


Mythimoderna

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Alpha Derek, Accidental Knotting, Alive Allison Argent & Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alive Laura Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Online Dating, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Architect Derek Hale, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Breeding, Corsetry, IT Technician Stiles Stilinski, Knotting, Lace Panties, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Masturbation in Bathroom, Mpreg, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Online Relationship, Panties, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Derek Hale hasn't dated anyone for five years when he reaches out to MythicalMischief online and starts talking about lace panties and corsets. They're just considering meeting up when Derek scores a dream job with Mythimoderna and his entire world is turned upside down by Stiles Stilinski. After all this time, Derek doesn't know what to do when he's falling for two people at the same time--the one he fell in love with without ever meeting, and the one he's attracted to but barely even knows.





	Mythimoderna

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for SterekReverseBang for [THIS wonderful art](https://originfire.tumblr.com/post/175465995943/my-first-art-piece-for-sterekreversebang-2018) by [Firebull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firebull)/[Originfire](http://originfire.tumblr.com)! I remember thinking "ooh, corset fic, this is gonna be short, hot, and fun" and then we started talking and next thing I know I've got 25k of PWP and feelings and an Office AU mixed with ABO and a met online AU, and wow... how did we get here?
> 
> Please go leave love for [this inspiring art](https://originfire.tumblr.com/post/175465995943/my-first-art-piece-for-sterekreversebang-2018)!
> 
> Also, thank you so much to my beta, Veni. You are always, ALWAYS, amazing.
> 
> NOTE: This fic uses a work skin to add readability for the online messaging system and a few spots of formatting throughout the fic. While you can disable the skin or download the fic, it'll probably be easier to read with the skin applied.

_**[6 months ago]** _

**NYWolf109:** I hope you don’t mind me reaching out to you via DM.

 **MythicalMischief:** Hey, no, course not. My life’s an open book. Well, not really. And if it were, it’d probably be a pretty boring book. But I never mind personal conversation. If I’ve said it publicly, why would I feel weird about talking about the same thing privately?

 **NYWolf109:** Okay, good.

 **MythicalMischief:** Were you going to ask me something?

 **NYWolf109:** You were talking about panties. On the kink board.

 **MythicalMischief:** Oh, you mean when I was giving tips on buying to GeoffGeoff? Why would someone repeat their name like that? It has to be fake, right? Anyway. That?

 **NYWolf109:** Yeah, that.

 **MythicalMischief:** Do you need a resource list? I’ve got a file I can send to you. I don’t know how comfortable you are sharing your email address, or I can just start pasting it in piece by piece here.

 **NYWolf109:** I’m pretty sure no one sells lace panties for alphas.

 **MythicalMischief:** Oh, wow. If I were wearing panties right now they’d be wet, for sure. Because now I’m imagining this huge alpha dick and these tiny little lace panties, and how it’d be sticking out, stretching it with a knot.

 **MythicalMischief:** Shit. Shit. I’m sorry. That was crossing a line. It’s not like you came to me for Skype sex or something.

 **NYWolf109:** Maybe we should work up to that.

 **MythicalMischief:** DUDE.

 **MythicalMischief:** DUDE.

 **MythicalMischief:** DUDE.

 **NYWolf109:** You said that.

 **MythicalMischief:** DUDE. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and leave.

 **NYWolf109:** I feel like we know each other. A little. We talk on the myth board, and the kink board. And I don’t feel comfortable just going out to a club, or putting out some kind of ad saying that I’m looking for a guy who looks good in lace.

 **MythicalMischief:** But you’re looking for a guy who looks good in lace.

 **NYWolf109:** It sounds like something I want to see. So I guess, yes. I’m looking for resources. And I thought you might have a site you could send me to, so I could look at pictures.

 **MythicalMischief:** You’re asking for my porn stash.

 **NYWolf109:** I guess. Yes.

 **MythicalMischief:** Lucky for you, I never lose a link.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

“Don’t you have HR things to do.” Derek stops before Cora can push through the glass double doors. He grips the leather messenger bag hanging by his hip tightly, stuck as if he’s put down roots in the hall.

“Was that supposed to be a question? Because, brother dear, questions normally lilt up. Like this?” Cora wraps her arms around his, tugs a little. “I do have HR things to do. One of those HR things, after finishing the new hire’s paperwork, is making sure that the new hire is settled in their new office after a tour of the overall office. Well, just this floor in your case. The IT guys have asked me to stop including their space in the tour. Something about disturbing the flow and letting the cold air out, and maybe that one time I stopped to check on the monitors.”

“Cora.”

“Derek.” She matches him tone for tone. When he glares at her, she lets go and gives him space. Spreading her hands she says quietly, “What are you afraid of? This is the dream job. You’re an amazing architect. This is the best supernatural related architecture firm in the country. And the best part is, you get to come home.”

Home.

As in Beacon Hills, California.

Derek laughs dryly. “Yeah. Home. Cora, I left fifteen years ago. That’s almost half my life. Maybe I wasn’t really meant to come back.”

“I’m here,” Cora says. Hands on her hips, head tilted, she reminds Derek of their mother so much more than Laura ever has. “Laura’s here, Peter’s here. Your godchild is here. And now _you_ are here, so suck it up, shut up, and deal with it. You’re home, and you’re with family, and we will be lovingly sarcastic to you forever after.”

She grabs one of the pair of glass doors and yanks it open, waving at the empty space. “Go on in, Derek. Welcome to Mythimoderna.”

He smells embarrassment as soon as he steps through, and the girl at the front desk seems strangely occupied by something’s she’s writing on the notepad on her desk.

“Hayden,” Cora calls out, and Hayden’s head snaps up.

She smiles brightly, cheeks dimpling. “Hi, Cora. This must be Mr. Hale.”

“Derek.” He offers a hand, then takes the packet that she hands him in return.

“Welcome to Mythimoderna,” Hayden says cheerfully. “Your access is all set up, and your office is keyed to your badge. You’ll be in the opposite corner from Mr. Whittemore on this floor, overlooking the nice side of town. Ms. Martin’s requested a meeting in the main conference room at nine, Cora, so please be done touring by then.”

“Thank you, Hayden.”

She flushes when he addresses her, and Derek tries to ignore the rising scent of arousal. He also ignores Cora’s snicker as they step away. It’s not like it’s an unusual reaction. He just wishes he didn’t have to smell it.

Cora gives him time to drop things off in his office, where a bright and shiny laptop sits on the desk. She drags him around the floor, pointing out Jackson Whittemore’s corner office, and the small suite of offices that Cora shares with Lydia Martin. Scott McCall, Allison Argent, and Kira Yukimura are the ringleaders of the business integration and interior design bullpen, while Liam is the lead architect for the design bullpen, reporting directly to Derek and Jackson.

IT is apparently one floor down, and Derek’s fine with that.

“There are too many people here.” Derek rubs at his eyes and nose. “Something smells off.”

“Mythimoderna employs 48 direct employees, as well as maintaining contracts with several outside groups, including Laura,” Cora reels off. “And I don’t smell anything. Do you have travel crud? Because if you get Lydia sick, Jackson will kill you.”

Derek remembers his first meeting with the married pair who are one third of the original owners of Mythimoderna. Jackson was intensely protective of his wife then, and Derek can’t think it’s gotten any better as Lydia’s pregnancy progresses. “I’m not sick,” he mutters. He leans down against his desk, inhales deeply. “Something stinks. I don’t know what it is, but it’s everywhere.”

“Maybe your princess is somewhere in this office waiting for you to—Jesus.” Cora ducks when Derek throws a mug at her. It bounces on the thick carpet without breaking. “Honestly. Dial the temper back. We’re working here.”

“I knew you’d duck,” he says flatly. “And you know better than to poke your nose into my dating habits.”

“It’s been a while. I was just teasing.” Cora perches on the edge of the desk, leans over to turn on the computer. “It’s probably something in the cleaning supplies that’s bugging you. We’ve got more than a few people with sensitive noses on staff. I’ll talk to all of them and see if we can figure some options out and get it fixed. It’ll only be embarrassing if you start sneezing while pitching designs to clients.”

Cleaning supplies. Maybe.

Derek sinks into his seat, and the scent is all around him. He touches the keyboard, and the monitor lights up, a login screen waiting for him. He digs the temporary password out of his packet and quickly logs in and changes it, saving the password in his password keeper on his phone.

“Stiles and Danny will be glad to know that you’ve got sense enough to use unique passwords,” Cora says. “We’ve got a lot of sensitive information on the servers here. Please remember that if you lose this laptop, you lose intellectual property that belongs to Mythimoderna. If you need help with anything, call Mason. He’s primarily in mythical research, for when we have unusual cases, but he doubles as desk side technical support. Believe me, it’s way better than letting Stiles deal with people. We’d never keep anyone.”

“Is he that bad?” Derek’s heard about Stiles over the year since Cora started working at Mythimoderna, but it’s usually approval of his snarky habits.

“He doesn’t have any patience for idiots.” Cora pats his arm. “You’ll get along brilliantly, believe me.”

Her phone chimes, just as there’s a knock on the door.

“And that’s our signal. Let’s get you into your first meeting. Bless you,” Cora says as he sneezes. He can’t seem to stop, and he feels like she’s judging him until she leans into him, rubs her cheek against his until all he can smell is pack and family. “We’ll find what you’re allergic to, I promise.”

He wouldn’t say allergic, not really. It’s dusky, and a shade too sweet, and it seeps into his nose when he’s not thinking about it. There’s an undertone that he actually likes, but it’s overwhelming because he can’t get away.

And maybe he’s tried a little too hard to inhale it, because now he can’t stop sneezing.

He’ll let Cora call it an allergy if it keeps her from giving him shit about it.

* * *

_**[5 months ago]** _

**NYWolf109:** I’m not actually an alpha.

 **MythicalMischief:** Oh man, now I’m disappointed. But I’m glad you told me before I wondered what happened to your knot.

 **NYWolf109:** What makes you think you’d get to see my knot? Or lack of one?

 **MythicalMischief:** Did you get the package I sent to your PO Box?

 **NYWolf109:** The one somehow delivered without any return address information? Yes. I had to reassure them that it wasn’t a bomb.

 **MythicalMischief:** It’s magic. Besides. If you’re being cagey about your address, I figure I should be, too. It’s probably for the best if we don’t go giving away our locations, right?

 **NYWolf109:** Right.

 **MythicalMischief:** Anyway. Did you actually open the box?

 **NYWolf109:** Yes.

 **MythicalMischief:** Are you wearing them? Because I’m wearing the matching pair that I bought for myself.

 **NYWolf109:** Oh.

 **MythicalMischief:** Just oh? I’d hoped for a better reaction than that. I was thinking, maybe we’re ready to start exchanging pictures. Me in a pair of pink lace panties. You in a pair of pink lace panties. Hard, soft… it’s not really all that different from porn.

 **NYWolf109:** It’s a little more personal.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude, we have literally talked about our favorite toys. Aside from a little lie about you being alpha-endowed, we have gone into TMI more times than I can count.

 **NYWolf109:** We haven’t exchanged pictures.

 **MythicalMischief:** Would a “no faces” rule make you feel better about it?

 **NYWolf109:** Yes. Please.

 **MythicalMischief:** Okay, no faces. But I’m going to send you a picture now of me in my pink panties. And you should get dressed.

 **NYWolf109:** Okay. That’s you?

 **MythicalMischief:** Yes. You were quiet for a really long time. Is everything okay over there?

 **NYWolf109:** It was a lot harder to get the panties on than I figured. I’m not an alpha but I’m not small either. And it’s kind of

 **MythicalMischief:** Hard?

 **NYWolf109:** Yes. You look good. You have all these freckles. The panties are wet. Jesus, your panties are really wet. You didn’t have to send that second picture.

 **MythicalMischief:** Yes, I did. I’m creaming everywhere because I’m thinking about you looking at me.

 **NYWolf109:** I

 **MythicalMischief:** What, dude?

 **NYWolf109:** Here.

 **MythicalMischief:** You weren’t kidding about being big. And that’s without a knot. I can’t even imagine how it’d fit anywhere with a knot.

 **NYWolf109:** I wouldn’t know, since I’ve never knotted anyone.

 **MythicalMischief:** Yes. We already established that you lied about being an alpha. You know, there are prosthetics for that.

 **NYWolf109:** When I fuck you, it’s going to be all me.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **NYWolf109:** You said that.

 **MythicalMischief:** Are you serious?

 **NYWolf109:** I don’t know. We’ve never met. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.

 **MythicalMischief:** I don’t know about you, but I’ve got my hands in my panties and am about to make a really big mess.

 **NYWolf109:** Okay, yes. That. Me too.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

Laura won’t let go.

She grabbed Derek the moment he walked into Erica’s apartment, throwing her arms around him, burying her face against his throat. She inhales roughly, rubs her cheek against his skin. And Derek would be lying if he said it didn’t feel good. He holds his twin carefully, presses his face to her hair, kisses above her ear.

“I missed you, too,” he whispers, before she steps back and swats at his chest.

“You asshole. You shouldn’t have stayed away so long,” she grumbles.

This close, he can feel the pull of pack and family in a way he hasn’t in a long time. Each of them, like spokes on a spiderweb, interwoven and bound together. It settles over him, and he relaxes into the sensation.

Boyd coughs, and Derek finally turns to where Boyd and Erica stand in the kitchen. He can just barely see the little girl who hides behind Boyd, one arm wrapped around his leg.

Derek opens his arms, and Erica rushes forward, leaping up so he has to hold her as she squeals gleefully.

“Daddy? Why is Mommy kissing Uncle Derek?”

Cora snickers, and Laura’s snort is covered by the hand over her mouth. When Derek manages to get Erica’s long hair out of his face, he can see Elise peeking out from behind Boyd.

Elise ducks away with a tiny squeak as soon as she realizes Derek sees her.

“Because Mommy likes to test Daddy’s patience, and she likes to get Uncle Derek off-balance, and kissing him manages both at once,” Boyd says dryly.

“Are you going to climb Derek like a tree all night?” Cora asks, as Derek manages to nudge Erica down to standing on her own.

“It’s his own fault. If he bothered to show up more than once a decade, I wouldn’t have to steal a decade’s worth of hugs all at once,” Erica retorts, her tone too fond to be truly sharp. “He brought this on himself.”

“Let’s get to dinner, because certain munchkins still have a bedtime routine they need to get to.” Boyd directs Elise to the table, where she climbs into the chair with a booster. She’s tiny and delicate, her skin dark and hair light.

She reaches out and grabs the chair next to her, shaking it. “Uncle Derek, you sit here.”

He does, and she looks at him expectantly. Derek raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re supposed to bring a present,” Elise says plainly. “Don’t you know that?”

Laura bursts out laughing. Boyd covers his face with his palm, leans his elbow on his table.

“Dinner first, and your present can be a bedtime story,” Derek counters. He does have a gift with him, and it just so happens that it actually is a story—a small series of books painted by a werewolf author he met in New York. They should be perfect for a young reader who happens to like to howl at the moon.

It’s different than attending holidays over Skype. Usually he sees this table from a distance, through his computer screen. Boyd always sits at one end, with Erica by his side, while Laura claims the foot of the table for herself. For the holidays, Isaac and Peter would be there, and Derek’s not sure why they haven’t come tonight.

Skype isn’t nearly as sticky, either. Elise reaches out every few bites, patting Derek’s arm to get his attention.

Despite the sticky fingers, it’s nice to spend some time with his goddaughter, who somehow turned six when Derek wasn’t looking. They’ve spoken often over Skype—Erica was insistent that they know each other—but this is the first time that they’ve met in person.

When Elise falls asleep on his lap after her story, Derek’s not sure how he’s lived without this so far.

Laura snuggles in close by his side. “Is it worth coming home?”

“For Elise, yes. For you… I’m still undecided,” Derek deadpans. He manages to keep Elise from being disturbed when Laura elbows him, and he nudges her back. “Quit it. Don’t wake Elise.”

“You know I only give you shit because I love you, right, Derek?” Laura murmurs. She nuzzles close, and he inhales again. Being with his twin and alpha makes the world right in ways it hasn’t been in far too long.

“I know.” Derek gives up and admits the truth. “You’re right, I should’ve come home. But I was building my business, and I wasn’t ready.”

“And now? I think Mythimoderna’s going to be a good fit for you. I really respect Lydia Martin a lot,” Laura says.

“Obviously I do, or I wouldn’t be there,” Cora adds. “Jackson can be kind of ajackass sometimes, but overall he’s a decent person, and he worships the ground Lydia walks on. Scott and Allison are brilliant designers; they keep the place running and they know how to work with people to help everyone get not just what they need, but what they want.”

“You don’t need to sell me on it,” Derek says quietly. “I’m here, aren’t I? I have an office and everything.”

“Did you ever figure out what was bothering you?” Cora points to the spot on the other side of Derek so that Erica can claim it, burrowing close.

Laura pulls back, brow furrowed. “Someone’s bothering you at work?”

“Something,” Derek corrects. “There this smell. Cora thinks I’m allergic to it, I just think it smells—it smells strange. Sweet. It makes me sneeze.”

“Maybe you’ve found your mate,” Boyd comments, and that’s enough to make Derek laugh out loud.

He has to rub Elise’s back until she falls back asleep. “It’s not my mate. It’s just some kind of cleaning smell that I don’t like,” Derek says easily.

“Are you still doing that—” Erica cuts off when Derek’s elbow gets her just under her arm. “Ow. Hey,” she grumbles at him. “What? Are your online dating habits a secret?”

Derek is all too aware of the fact that his sisters are staring at him. Boyd leans back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking slightly. Because of course Erica told him; Derek doesn’t know what he expected. “Yes,” he mutters. “And it’s not online dating.”

“Online sex then, whatever.” Erica shrugs.

Laura swats his chest. “Out with it.”

No. Just… “No.” Derek stands, Elise still cradled in his arms. “I’m going to go get her settled in bed. Someone want to point me in the right direction, Boyd?” It’s not subtle and he’s a little surprised that they all let him get away with it as he follows Boyd down the hall.

Together they get Elise laid in her bed, and tucked in under the covers. Boyd picks up a well-loved stuffed wolf and tucks it next to Elise, who immediately rolls over and rubs her cheek against the worn fur.

“Can’t stay asleep without Wolfie,” Boyd comments. Derek remembers the pictures of Elise as an infant, with the brand new stuffed wolf in her crib. Derek’s pleased that his first gift to Elise remains a favorite.

“So,” Boyd asks, voice low. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Derek appreciates being asked, and being given the opportunity to choose his answer. “No.”

Boyd nods, slaps his shoulder. “Fine. Then we won’t.”

It’s not much of a reprieve, but it’ll do for now. If he’s lucky, they’ll forget anything was said before the next pack night.

* * *

_**[3 Months ago]** _

**MythicalMischief:** Do you think we’ll ever really meet?

 **NYWolf109:** What brought that on?

 **MythicalMischief:** Don’t get me wrong, I like Skype sex. Even if we can’t see faces. I mean. God. Have you seen yourself? I have no idea how I got that lucky. But I just—I want to get that cock in my mouth. I want you to fuck me. I get so wet when we’re talking.

 **NYWolf109:** I’ve noticed.

 **MythicalMischief:** Okay, so maybe there have been some wet sheets.

 **NYWolf109:** And panties.

 **MythicalMischief:** But there are things we can’t do if we’re not together.

 **NYWolf109:** Like?

 **MythicalMischief:** How do you feel about corsets?

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **MythicalMischief:** OMG dude. What even is that?

 **NYWolf109:** That’s how I feel about corsets.

 **MythicalMischief:** Are you even bigger than before?

 **NYWolf109:** Pretty sure no. I’m just thinking about lacing you into something soft and red or pink, getting it so tight you can just barely breathe. Got to put your panties on first, because once the corset’s on you can’t bend over too far. But you can bend far enough, I think, if I have you over a table. Eat you out before I fuck you.

 **MythicalMischief:** Jesus. Have you worn a corset before?

 **NYWolf109:** No.

 **MythicalMischief:** Had a partner with a corset? I thought you said it had been years or something. And that you didn’t really do kink in real life.

 **NYWolf109:** Wasn’t lying.

 **MythicalMischief:** So how do you know about corsets?

 **NYWolf109:** Please don’t ask me that.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude, c’mon. Tell me. I mean, if we meet up, and I’m putting my life in your hands by letting you restrict my capability to breathe, I want to know how you know what you know.

 **NYWolf109:** Fine. Fine. But it’s not sexy. My little sister used to go to Goth night, and she would always say “boots before corset” because you can’t bend when it’s on.

 **MythicalMischief:** Okay, yeah, no more sibling talk when we’re doing the sexy thing. It’s pretty much a boner killer.

 **NYWolf109:** Exactly.

 **MythicalMischief:** And now I’m wondering how many sisters you have? Do you have a big family?

 **NYWolf109:** I take it we’re done with the sexy parts?

 **MythicalMischief:** Yeah, pretty much. I’ll start with the personal sharing. I have a step-brother. He’s like a twin, sometimes. We’ve been best friends since forever, and our parents got married a while ago, so we’re brothers legally, too. And we have a little sister who was born seven years ago. She’s a cutie. It’s fun spoiling her.

 **NYWolf109:** So you have a good-sized family.

 **MythicalMischief:** Not really. I mean, after that, it’s my dad, his mom, and just us. All my other relatives are pretty far away, and some of them aren’t even in this country. Which is the US.

 **NYWolf109:** We covered that in a different conversation.

 **MythicalMischief:** Yep. You’re east coast. I’m west coast.

 **NYWolf109:** Yes. But I

 **MythicalMischief:** Yes?

 **NYWolf109:** I grew up on the west coast. My family is still there. My twin sister, and my little sister. And my uncle. Also my best friends, and my goddaughter.

 **MythicalMischief:** Oh my God, you’re a godfather? Wait, have you been practicing your New York accent to use with her? Please tell me you do.

 **NYWolf109:** Sorry.

 **MythicalMischief:** It’s okay, I’ll forgive you. If you ever come back to visit, we’ll be on the same coast. That’s a lot closer.

 **NYWolf109:** Maybe we’ll talk corsets then.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

The scent drives Derek insane. It’s everywhere at Mythimoderna. On every surface, hidden in every crack. The conference rooms, the bullpens. After two weeks, Derek’s realized that there is no way of escaping it. It’s like it’s permeated the walls.

He has a meeting with Scott, Allison, and Liam. Since Lydia has the conference room scheduled, they’ve all pulled up chairs around the table between Scott’s and Allison’s desks. There are papers spread everywhere, and Allison has her laptop perched on her desk, connected to a monitor to display large enough for them all to see.

It’s messy, but Derek likes it better than the rigid procedures he’s been used to in New York.

“I was thinking that we put the walk-in freezer here.” Scott points to the back of the garage. “If we extend the house, we can create a space behind the garage, then they don’t have to do the serial killer thing of storing their meat in the basement.”

“Please don’t refer to our clients as serial killers,” Liam mutters.

“He only does it in private,” Allison reassures him. “You’ve seen him in meetings. Nothing but professionalism.”

Derek sneezes.

He thinks it’s going to be one time, but as Scott goes to say something, Derek holds up his finger and sneezes three more times in quick succession.

“You okay, dude?” Scott asks

Derek nods, nostrils flaring. This particular part of the office is soaked in the scent even more than usual. Thick and rich, like the source is close by. He leans closer to Scott without thinking, inhales hard.

“Dude,” Scott says, voice low with reproach.

Shit. Derek’s cheeks heat abruptly. “Sorry. There’s this—” He waves his hand to indicate the whole office. “Smell.” He pauses, corrects himself. “Scent. And it gets in my head and makes me sneeze sometimes, and Cora thinks I might be allergic to one of the cleaning products. I guess I thought—it’s not you,” he finishes, voice trailing off low and soft.

Allison reaches back, tugs the bottom drawer of her desk open and brings out a spray bottle. “Try this,” she suggests, handing it to Derek. “I cleaned the table first thing this morning because someone,” she gives Scott a fond look, “managed to spill noodles all over it yesterday during lunch.”

“I blame Stiles,” Scott says. “He made me laugh when I was eating.”

“We use these natural products that Lydia found. Supposed to be better for supernatural noses, actually, but we do recommend them to our clients and have found a few people who are sensitive to them. Mostly alphas,” she admits, with a small nod to acknowledge that she knows Derek isn’t. “In general, though, most people with elevated senses find them to be less offensive than the chemical-laden products on the mass market.”

Derek takes the bottle, twists the lid off and inhales. He immediately sneezes, unable to stop until Liam takes the bottle from him and hands it back to Allison.

“I think we’ve found what’s making you sneeze,” Scott says dryly.

Derek can’t argue the point. He takes the handful of tissues that Allison hands him, does his best to stop sneezing. That stuff is definitely a problem. Part of the problem. It’s the highest, sweetest notes, the ones that tickle his nose and trigger the sneezing fits.

But it isn’t all of it. There’s still something else, something that he can’t ignore, and now that he can separate out the two, it’s almost worse.

Scott lifts a hand, waves at two guys coming into the bullpen. The taller of the two lifts a hand in idle response, but the other one trips over something, hands flailing out to catch himself on one of the desks.

“I’m going to go see what IT needs before we end up with Stiles face planting in something important,” Liam mutters.

“They’re probably talking to Mason,” Allison points out.

“And Stiles could face plant on Mason’s desk and Mason would be in the way,” Liam counters. “Let me just go save my best friend.” Liam stands and stalks toward the other two, jabbing a finger in Stiles’s direction.

“Stiles and Danny. I don’t think you’ve met them.” Allison starts to gather up paperwork. “We might as well get started working on all this, and meet again later, when Liam isn’t trying to keep Mason from getting his nose punched.”

Derek’s still watching Stiles and Danny. They’re at Mason’s desk now, and while Danny leans one elbow on the wall, leaning in while he talks to Mason, Stiles is standing a little apart, hands moving fluidly while he speaks.

Derek cocks his head, tunes in.

“Dude, Valkyries are a thing,” Stiles says earnestly. “Mason. Dude. You have made my day. How old are they? Are they reborn? Do they live forever? Do they go to Valhalla? What’s true and what’s myth?”

“Ancient Nordic warrior race. Think hunters, Stiles. They’re not inhuman, not exactly. More like Allison than Danny,” Mason replies.

“How many times do I have to say I’m not all that special?” Danny asks. “Allison is definitely supernatural. Have you seen her aim a bow without looking?”

“We know you’re supernatural and if you’d just tell us what you are, we wouldn’t have to do the equivalent of guessing that your middle name is Fred every time it comes up,” Stiles says.

“Derek?” Allison nudges him, and Derek sits back, blinking.

“I—” He has no train of thought, no idea what he was going to say.

“Danny has that effect on people.” Scott pats Derek’s arm. “Whether you’re straight or gay. Stiles has guessed that he’s a siren, or an incubus, but it’s neither of those, either. People just can’t stop staring at him. He doesn’t like dating anyone in the workplace, either.”

“Unless you count Jackson,” Allison whispers, and Scott snorts.

Wait. Derek couldn’t have heard that right. “Danny and Jackson?” he whispers, low enough that is no one thinks to listen in, he hopes they won’t hear him.

“Not like that, not really,” Allison says. “Danny’s Jackson’s anchor, and he has been forever, according to Lydia.”

“True,” Scott says. “We’ve known them forever, too, and Danny’s what keeps Jackson from being a complete asshole.”

“Valkyries!” Stiles yells, waving at Scott.

Scott sends back a thumbs up, leans in to speak quietly. “Honestly, this place is just all gossip, because we’ve known each other for so long. Allison’s the newest, and she was Lydia’s roommate freshman year and then we met.” His grin is lopsided, and hers is just as besotted in return. “Danny and Stiles used to date, so that’s why Danny has a clear no workplace dating rule.”

“Oh.” Derek licks his lips, lets his gaze drift back to where Danny and Stiles sit with Mason and now Liam. He catches Stiles looking at their table and he lifts one eyebrow; Stiles windmills his arms, falling backwards into Danny and looking away.

Yeah.

It’s not Danny.

He’s good looking. He’s really good looking, if Derek’s being honest, but he’s just not what Derek’s looking for. Not that Derek’s looking, not technically. Not when he may already have a relationship formed online that could amount to something someday.

But Stiles. The way his hands move. The way his eyes flick back over to Derek. The enthusiasm. There’s just something that draws Derek in and he’s not sure exactly what it is.

He just knows that he wants to keep looking, and that wouldn’t be appropriate at all.

At least he also knows that Stiles is interested in guys.

Shit.

That actually doesn’t help him tear his attention away at all.

“Derek.”

He jumps at Cora’s whisper, hissed in his ear, and Allison giggles, one hand over her mouth. Lydia stands behind Allison, one eyebrow raised, her hand resting on her burgeoning belly, and Jackson stands to her side.

“We need to borrow Allison and Scott for a lunch meeting,” Lydia says. “If you don’t mind.”

“He doesn’t mind at all,” Cora says, hooking her fingers around his arm and digging in deep with her fingertips. “In fact, we’re meeting up with Laura for lunch. Think anyone’ll miss Derek for an extra half hour if we go long?”

Lydia flicks her fingers toward the door. “Go. It’s not like we’re all that strict.”

“I’ll stay late,” Derek offers.

Lydia’s gaze narrows. “I said go. Tell Laura I said hello, and I’ll see her Friday for our regular lunch. I want to discuss the docks.”

“Got it.” Cora tugs and Derek goes with her, stumbling as he gets to his feet. He follows along until they reach his office and she shoves him inside, closing the door after she enters.

“Okay,” she says. “Talk.”

Derek blinks. “About what?” he does his best to deflect.

Cora cocks her head. “Either you talk to me, or I ask again when we’re out with Laura. I was thinking of going to Erica’s cafe. I think Uncle Peter likes to have lunch there, too. And sometimes Isaac.”

“Are you threatening me?” Derek sets his things on his desk, drops into his chair and leans back, hand over his eyes. “We found the scent, by the way. Part of it. That spray shit that Allison was using. Apparently some people are allergic to it.”

“Part of it?” Cora perches on his desk. “Are you refusing to talk because you think this office won’t be private? All the offices are soundproofed against supernatural ears. If you didn’t have giant glass windows you could have loud, kinky sex in here and no one would know.”

Derek looks at those very windows, zeroing in on Mason’s desk across the floor. Stiles, Danny, and Liam are all still there, Stiles speaking animatedly while Mason leans in and nudges him back.

Try as he might, Derek can’t hear a word they’re saying.

“I am going to pretend that my little sister didn’t mention sex or kink,” he mutters, putting his hand back over his eyes. “And I’m fine. Whatever you’re trying to get out of me doesn’t exist. I’m just tired. I’ve only been here a few weeks and I’m still adjusting to the new schedule.”

“You missing anyone in particular?” Cora asks softly, and Derek can’t help the dry laugh.

“Cora, I haven’t been dating anyone for more than five years. I wasn’t lying when I told you guys I was single,” he says quietly. “There hasn’t been anyone.”

He’s lying, but only a little. It’s not as if he has an actual relationship based on anything other than long text conversations and shared photographs with no faces.

“So what had you zoned out and staring at our resident incubus?” Cora asks.

Derek’s gaze narrows as he drops his hand and stares at Cora. “Allison said Danny’s not an incubus.” Which can only mean—Derek swivels to look out the window again.

“It’s the only thing I can come up with to explain his draw,” Cora says. “Anyone—straight or gay, no matter what they want—every single person is drawn to Danny. Even you.”

He could correct her. Should correct her.

It’s not Danny, not even a bit.

“It’s okay, he really does have that effect on everyone.” Cora pats his hand, following it up with a sharp grin. “But we’re still going to Erica’s for lunch. Laura made me promise to get you there.”

“I’m up for that as long as you promise not to start speculating about my love life,” Derek grumbles. He brought a lunch, but he’s pretty sure that whatever Erica serves up is going to be better anyway. And lunch with his family and best friends is always better than sitting alone in his office.

“Not today,” Cora agrees, far too easily. “We’re just glad to have you on the west coast with us again.”

#

When Derek comes in the next morning, Stiles is sitting at his computer, typing away. Stiles jerks backwards as soon as the door opens, presses a hand against his heart. “Dude. Warn a guy.”

Derek lifts both eyebrows. “It’s my office. And you’re in it with the door closed.”

“You’re early,” Stiles says.

And yes, Derek’s early. But he’s been early almost every day since he started here. There’s not much to do at home, and he’s always been an early riser. After a quick run, a shower, and breakfast in a quiet, empty apartment, it seems easier to go to work than sit around.

“Why are you on my computer?” Derek sets his lunch down on the desk, his bag next to the chair. He leans in to look over Stiles’s shoulder, but doesn’t get the chance to see anything before he starts sneezing.

“Gross.” Stiles gets his hands up between them, nudges Derek in one direction while his chair takes Stiles away in the other. “Scott said you were allergic to that stuff Lydia loves to use for cleaning, but I didn’t think it was that bad. I was just cleaning desks after I sat at them. Most people don’t like my scent—it’s too sharp. I’ve got normal hand sanitizer spray for you, but the other stuff’s probably still on my skin.”

Derek grabs for a tissue, blows his nose. “You still didn’t say why you’re on my computer,” he mutters, rubbing at his nose.

“Updates,” Stiles says. “Danny and I come in early and split the office. And yes, we could automate it, but we let people have enough rights on their computers that some people could turn it off, or delay them, so we figure we’ll just spin through, log into our own accounts—we don’t get into any of your stuff, don’t worry—and run through the various updates. Makes our lives easier if we make sure things went the way they were supposed to.” He lowers his voice, like it’s a secret, “You wouldn’t believe the kind of bugs some people get on their machines.”

“I’ll do it,” Derek says curtly.

Stiles lowers his hands, frowning. “Do what?”

“I’ll run my own updates. Check to make sure the automated thingy worked. Whatever you want, just don’t—don’t come in my office.” Derek manages to get the words out, but the hurt look on Stiles’s face is a kick to the gut.

He doesn’t have time to explain right now.

“Right. Dude.” Stiles stands slowly, moves carefully as if he’s trying to keep his limbs under control. “You don’t like me. That’s not actually uncommon. In fact, a high percentage of supernatural beings really hate me, just because I make their skin crawl. Not because I do anything, but because my natural magical state is irritating.”

“Magic,” Derek says.

Stiles nods. “Yeah. Magic. I have a high-intensity spark, and it pretty much keeps me at a two on the magical scale at all times. Like when a thunderstorm’s waiting to happen. If you don’t like being in the same room with me, definitely don’t touch me,” he mutters, looking down. He shoves his hands in his pockets, takes a step backwards toward the door. “It’s amazing how many people bolt when they do. Did you know I’ve met people who didn’t know they were supernatural until they could feel my magic?”

Skin crawling.

Derek would like to say that that’s what’s happening. That the prickle that he feels is uncomfortable. And it is, but it’s not unpleasant. In fact, it’s arousing. It tickles across his skin, like someone running their fingers over his chest, into the spot just behind his fly, and his cock thickens at the attention.

He moves closer to the desk, putting it between him and Stiles.

“I need to start work,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice level and even. “It isn’t anything personal against you, Stiles. I just promised someone that I’d be over after work, and I have a project to finish.”

Stiles gestures at the computer monitor. “It’s probably going to be another fifteen minutes at least,” he says quietly. Derek watches as the message shifts from 50% to 60% complete. “Like I said, I thought I had time. I’ll remember for the future that you’re in early.”

“I’ll let you know if that changes. Today I’ll just….” Derek slides around the desk, sinks into the chair. He’s grateful for the way the large desk hides him from the windows, and presses his palm down against his thickening cock. “I’ll make sure it finishes. Then I’ll get to work. I’ve got drawings to look at. Notes to make. I’m fine. Just—”

“I’m going.” Stiles puts his hands up, rushes backwards so fast that he trips and catches himself against the door. “I’m gone,” he says, as he slips through the door and closes it behind him.

Derek has the strangest urge to walk over to the door and smell the knob. He’s all too aware of the windows, and the fact that Stiles is now with Danny at another desk, leaning in talking. They could look over, could see him, and here he is, stuck hiding a boner behind his desk.

He lifts his keyboard slowly, as if inspecting it for cleanliness; his nostrils flare, inhaling the scent that lingers there.

His skin pricks, and blood flows south.

That’s the other scent. The deeper one, thicker one. The one that makes him anxious, like he’s going to jump out of his skin. And this close and surrounding him it makes him hard as a rock and unable to convince his dick to go flaccid.

Derek closes his eyes and tries not to think about the way Stiles’s hands move when he talks, the way his body moves with that strange graceless grace.

It’s Stiles.

The scent is Stiles.

His computer ticks over to 65% complete for updates, and Derek shoves the keyboard aside. He puts his head down on his desk, pillowed on his arms.

He is so fucked.

* * *

_**[One Month Ago]** _

**NYWolf109:** I got a job.

 **MythicalMischief:** Congratulations!

 **MythicalMischief:** This is a case for congratulations, right?

 **NYWolf109:** Yes.

 **MythicalMischief:** Why don’t you sound more excited then?

 **NYWolf109:** I’m not really very good with change. There’s a reason I haven’t dated in five years. And a reason I’m still at the job I already have.

 **MythicalMischief:** But you applied for this job. You must have wanted it.

 **NYWolf109:** I did. I do. But it’s a lot of change.

 **MythicalMischief:** Okay. So. I was going to send you this picture of this corset I was thinking of buying

 **NYWolf109:** Send the link.

 **MythicalMischief:** Way to interrupt a guy. Fine. Here.

 **NYWolf109:** Shit.

 **MythicalMischief:** What does that mean?

 **NYWolf109:** It comes with matching panties. And garter clips and thigh highs.

 **MythicalMischief:** They aren’t panties. It’s a thong.

 **NYWolf109:** Jesus Christ, you’re trying to give me a heart attack.

 **MythicalMischief:** How old are you, dude?

 **NYWolf109:** 33.

 **MythicalMischief:** A little young for a heart attack, I think. I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard of anyone as fit as you dying because they’ve got a long term boner for a guy in a corset.

 **NYWolf109:** Give me five minutes and I won’t be hard anymore.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude. I think you’re deflecting.

 **NYWolf109:** Deflecting from what?

 **MythicalMischief:** It sounded like maybe you actually wanted to talk about the job and change thing, until I mentioned the corset. Then you kind of leapt onto it like a lifeline. And don’t get me wrong—I am all about the kink and the whole picture exchange chat sex is incredible, and I love doing that with you.

 **NYWolf109:** But?

 **MythicalMischief:** But I think maybe we’re friends, too, by now. And maybe you need a friend more than you need an orgasm.

 **NYWolf109:** Trust me, right now I also need an orgasm.

 **MythicalMischief:** There is nothing stopping us from orgasming after. In fact, I will share pictures of my brand new blue lace panties after we talk.

 **NYWolf109:** And if I don’t want to?

 **MythicalMischief:** I didn’t think you wanted to talk. I figured you need to.

 **NYWolf109:** Fuck.

 **MythicalMischief:** So. Job.

 **NYWolf109:** Yeah. I’m moving in three weeks. I’ve given my two weeks’ notice, and I have another week to get everything packed and shipped out to the new place. I’m getting an apartment I’ve never even seen.

 **MythicalMischief:** Where?

 **NYWolf109:** West coast.

 **MythicalMischief:** Oh.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **MythicalMischief:** DUDE.

 **NYWolf109:** I can’t. Not right away. Like I said, I’m not good with change.

 **MythicalMischief:** I’m not change. I’m the same guy I’ve been for the last five months.

 **NYWolf109:** I’ve never dated a guy. I’m not even sure my sisters know I’m bi. I think they do. I mean, they have to. But I’ve never actually dated a guy.

 **MythicalMischief:** I didn’t mention dating.

 **NYWolf109:** Oh.

 **MythicalMischief:** I mean, if you want to do that, I’m up for it. I think. If we don’t hate each other on sight, and believe me, I have been informed that I’m an acquired taste. It’s actually impressive how many people hate me.

 **NYWolf109:** I don’t.

 **MythicalMischief:** You haven’t met me.

 **NYWolf109:** I want to. Just. Not right away. I need to get settled in first.

 **MythicalMischief:** Because you’re not good with change.

 **NYWolf109:** My family’s been wanting me to come home for a long time, but there are a lot of bad memories there along with the good. There are bad memories here, too.

 **MythicalMischief:** Then here probably isn’t worse than there, right? Well, not here here. But west coast here.

 **NYWolf109:** Yeah.

 **MythicalMischief:** Are you excited about the new job?

 **NYWolf109:** Very. It’s the best place in the country for what I do, and I’m incredibly excited to get to be a part of it.

 **MythicalMischief:** Then don’t worry. It’ll work out, somehow. You’ll get to see your sisters and your goddaughter. You’ll have your family. And maybe someday we’ll meet up.

 **NYWolf109:** I could buy you that corset. The red one.

 **MythicalMischief:** If you do that, you’ll want to see me in it. And I can’t lace it up myself. I guess I could ask a friend

 **NYWolf109:** No.

 **MythicalMischief:** No?

 **NYWolf109:** If I buy it for you, it means we’ll meet up. I just don’t know when.

 **MythicalMischief:** Is it like a promise corset?

 **NYWolf109:** You mean like a promise ring?

 **MythicalMischief:** Yes. But a corset.

 **NYWolf109:** Okay.

 **MythicalMischief:** Do you want me to put the blue panties on now?

 **NYWolf109:** God yes.

 **MythicalMischief:** I’m lying. I already have them on. Let me just take a few pictures.

 **NYWolf109:** I have no idea how you manage to hold the camera in that position, but I am very grateful that you can. You are so fucking wet.

 **MythicalMischief:** It’s all for you, baby. Are you hard for me?

 **NYWolf109:** Hang on.

 **MythicalMischief:** Oh Jesus fucking Christ, you’re hard. When did you get those? I mean, not that I’m complaining. But God, give a guy a warning. You’re just. Oh my God, that second picture. Are you jerking off with the panties?

 **NYWolf109:** They’re silky.

 **MythicalMischief:** I just. Fuck.

 **NYWolf109:** I want you to get off thinking about me.

 **MythicalMischief:** If I think about you any more I am going to go multi-orgasmic, dude. I think about you and your dick all the time. I want to suck on it. I want you to eat me out. I want you to fuck me so hard I don’t remember my name.

 **NYWolf109:** Fuck. Yes. Me too.

 **MythicalMischief:** Look what you made me do.

 **NYWolf109:** They’ll wash.

 **MythicalMischief:** Maybe someday you’ll be here to lick me clean.

 **NYWolf109:** Fuck. Yes.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

Derek should be eating his lunch and going back to work. He should be out front in the cafe, eating the tuna on whole wheat sandwich that he always gets, and then getting his ass out the door and back to Mythimoderna where he belongs.

Instead he’s in the back of the building, sitting at a desk that’s too close to an oven on one side and a whirring mixer on the other. It’s hot and loud and offensive to his ears, but at least for once he can’t smell Stiles.

Because it’s become a problem.

Ever since he realized that it’s Stiles, he’s stopped sneezing. Which is good. The problem is, Stiles is everywhere.

Not only has he touched every surface in Mythimoderna, worn his scent into the wood and plastic in thick layers, but he’s suddenly on their floor all the time. He comes up to talk to Mason about research, or to sit with Liam doing in-depth work designing the technical infrastructure on a new project. Or to just hang out with Scott and Allison. Or once, just to give Jackson shit about talking to Lydia’s belly.

Derek can’t escape.

But here, in the back of Moonlit Madness, Derek can finally breathe for a little while.

“Derek.” A hand falls on his shoulder, shakes him.

Until Erica decides to come back, that is.

“Mmph.” He doesn’t lift his head. The wood of her desk is cool compared to the heat searing one shoulder from the ovens. “Go’way,” he mutters.

“Pretty sure my best friend sulking in my office is a cry for help.” Erica pulls over a stool that sits near one of the workbenches. “I mean, I came back to make chocolate chip oatmeal cookie bars, but if you need an ear, I can do that, too. I can even multitask, if you wouldn’t be offended.”

Derek waves in the direction of the mixer. He has no idea what it’s currently mixing, but he figures she should deal with it. The bakery is her business; he just needs a little chance to get away.

She pats his shoulder, and the stool rolls away again. Derek listens to the sound of metal pans hitting the marble countertop as the mixer slows down. Erica works methodically, buttering the pans, pressing cookie dough into them as she hums to herself. Now that the mixer has stopped, the faint breeze it created is also gone.

Sweat drips from Derek’s forehead onto the wooden surface of the desk.

“Is the job that bad?” Erica asks.

“No.”

“Did Cora do something? Or Laura? Or Peter?” Erica punches the dough with soft sounds, then taps the pan against the counter. “I’d ask if it were Boyd, but I know he’d never. Isaac, on the other hand—”

“It’s not them. Any of them,” Derek mutters. “Peter did try to set me up with someone, but I managed to convince him that I’m not dying of loneliness and he stopped.”

“Did that line work on your sisters?”

Derek grumbles. “Not really, no. I managed to convince Cora that I didn’t leave anyone behind in New York, at least, and that I’d like to settle in here before I even think about dating.”

Something hits him on the back of his shoulders, and he sits up. Erica’s passing by him, two pans in her hands. “Open the door for me.” She indicates the right hand oven, and he opens it so she can slide the pans in. She twists the timer, then perches on the corner of her desk. “So. Talk, Derek. Something’s getting to you, and I’m pretty sure it’s personal. You’ve been here for four weeks already. You unpacked every box, and even put things away. You have furniture. You got a gym membership. You come here for lunch often enough that Alicia learned your favorite order and was kind of offended that you walked right by her without asking for it today.”

“Sorry.”

Erica kicks him gently. “Not the point. My point is, you’ve adjusted to living here. You belong here now, your job is good. What’s going on?”

“There’s this guy.” Derek hesitates, waits for some kind of reaction.

Erica pokes him with her toe again. “Okay. And this guy… doesn’t know you exist? Do you need me to pass him notes and ask if he likes you?”

“No.” He glares at her, and she laughs, smooshing his cheeks together until he waves her away. “It’s just there’s this other guy, too.”

“So you’re poly?” Erica asks. “Are they? I mean, you could ask them. Maybe it’ll work out—”

“It’s not like that,” Derek cuts her off.

She slides into his lap, tilts her head against his shoulder. “Okay, then, what’s it like?”

It’s hard to open up. Hard to let anyone see inside this part of his personal life. Derek’s tried being as normal as possible, and it goes sideways every time. He dated Paige in college, and she asked someone to bite her when Laura refused, and she died. He dated Jennifer in graduate school, and that was an epic disaster when he realized that she was trying to ensure that he’d defer to her so she could get ahead in their department.

And this—this is complicated.

Erica pats his chest. “Derek. If you want to tell me that someone ties you up on the weekends and edges you until you scream, that’s okay.”

“What? No.” His cheeks are hot. “Fuck, Erica.”

“It’s obviously something you’re embarrassed about,” she points out. “I figured submission might be the thing.”

“Actually, it’s um—” he cuts off right before saying _lingerie_. “The details aren’t important. Just. You know I met this guy online. He knows I’m a wolf. I know he’s an omega of some kind, and he knows I’m not an alpha. We just—we get along really well, and we’ve sent pictures. No faces. We talk all the time, and we—”

“Do these pictures involve mutually satisfactory activities?” Erica says blandly, laughing when Derek’s head falls forward. “Hon, I am not embarrassed by talking about sex. You know this. You knew the first time I let Boyd in my bed.”

“I could hear you the first time you were in bed with Boyd,” Derek mutters. “That doesn’t count.”

“So you’ve been talking to this guy. That’s good, right?” Erica nudges him, nuzzles his cheek with hers. “I’m glad for you, okay? Is it still just an online thing?”

“Yeah, so far. We’ve talked about meeting up, but—” Derek doesn’t know how to explain how much it terrifies him that maybe MythicalMischief won’t like him in person. Maybe he’ll take one look and be like no, not that guy. Maybe he won’t want to deal with the baggage that comes with Derek, his history.

He could solve that by trying to let him in more online. But that would mean divulging more personal details. And it’s hard enough to talk about things without using names or places as it is.

He’s not the only one being careful. He still doesn’t know exactly where MythicalMischief is on the west coast, although he suspects it’s northern California.

Which means relatively nearby.

“Derek,” Erica scolds. She leans back, frames his face in her hands and leans in ridiculously close. They’re forehead to forehead, and her eyes seem huge, almost merged into one giant cyclops eye from this angle. “If you want to meet this guy, then meet this guy. What could possibly be holding you back? Are you compatible sexually?”

He nods.

“Are you interested in him? Do you both want to meet up?”

He nods again.

“Do you get off when you talk to him?”

He nods one more time.

She pats his cheeks. “Then meet him! Imagine how much better it’ll be when you’re in the same place and not just sending pictures over the internet. The real thing is definitely better than a dick pic, no matter how nice the picture is.”

There’s just one problem with that, and his name is Stiles. “There’s this guy,” Derek says slowly. “This other guy. At Mythimoderna.”

“Danny,” Erica says immediately. “Cora was telling me about him. Wait,” she slows down as Derek shakes his head. “Not Danny?”

“Not Danny,” Derek confirms. She’s waiting, her head cocked, eyes wide. Her gaze slowly starts to narrow as he remains silent, and he knows he’s only moments away from her picking away at the problem.

At least Erica won’t threaten to bring other people in on it. He thinks.

“Stiles,” he confess quietly. “Don’t tell Cora.”

Erica sits back, head cocked and arms crossed. “Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll keep quiet on one condition—you start talking to me.”

“He’s the scent.” Derek waves at his face. “He’s everywhere in the office. He touches everything, and he’s been in my office. At my computer. I can’t get away from it, and now that I’ve finally met him, it’s worse. And he has these hands.” Derek holds up both his hands, wiggles his fingers. “Long fingers. I can’t stop thinking about them. And when I do think about them, when I see him, and catch that scent—”

He cuts off as Erica starts laughing.

“Rude,” he mutters.

“Oh, baby, I am not laughing at you.” She cradles his face and kisses the tip of his nose. “My boy has a crush. I’m actually kind of excited for you. It’s not every day you meet that person who makes you hard just by existing.”

“I can’t be into Stiles if I’m falling for this guy online,” Derek protests. Because he’s sure that’s what’s happening with MythicalMischief. He looks forward to their chats. To the sex. He wants more from it constantly, and he does want to meet up with him. Soon. As soon as he’s ready.

And then he sees Stiles at work and has to go sit with something covering his crotch until he’s able to be seen in public again.

It’s turning into a hassle.

“I’m not sure what to do,” Derek mutters.

“How about getting to know Stiles?” Erica suggests. She slides off the desk and into his lap, his arms going around her to pull her close. “That’ll let you figure out if it’s just some kind of physical attraction, or if it has the potential to be something more.”

“But what about the guy online?” Because Derek feels like he’d be cheating if he does that. Like trying to talk to them both is wrong.

“Are you two exclusive?”

“For more than five years I haven’t been with anyone but my right hand and a bunch of pictures from a guy I’ve never met, Erica,” Derek says dryly. “So yes, we’re exclusive. As far as I know.”

“Does he know that?” She leans into him when he makes a small wounded noise. “It’s just a question, Derek, and if you’re talking about meeting up—about doing anything in person—it’s a question you eventually need to ask, right?”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

But not now. Not yet, not when he’s just trying to figure out what’s going on around him. He’s not ready for what the answer might be.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

**NYWolf109:** Hi.

 **MythicalMischief:** Hey.

 **MythicalMischief:** Y’know, the traditional way to have a conversation is for one of us to talk, then the other one talks, and we go back and forth. Right?

 **NYWolf109:** Yeah. Go ahead and talk.

 **MythicalMischief:** You started—you know what, never mind. So. It’s been like three weeks. How’s life on the west coast? Enjoying the sun? Or is it one of those constant drizzle places? You going to give me a new PO box to send thing to? How’s the job?

 **NYWolf109:** The job’s good. It’s doing what I love, and the projects here are better than the ones I had back in New York. The people aren’t bad. I’m still trying to figure out how to fit in. I’m going to get fat eating lunch at my best friend’s bakery.

 **MythicalMischief:** Oh god, I know what you mean. There’s this place a few blocks from where I work and this girl in HR introduced us to the pastries from there. I think I gained ten pounds the first week after she started. I’m better now. But my brother likes to go there and get boxes of these amazing things and he always brings some down to my floor and just leaves them there. Like some kind of weird offering.

 **NYWolf109:** Bakeries are dangerous.

 **MythicalMischief:** They are. I am so sorry you have a best friend that owns one. At least my brother and best friend only shops at one.

 **MythicalMischief:** You went quiet again.

 **NYWolf109:** My friends and family are getting on my case about going out. Doing things. Meeting people. I think they all want me to fall in love and settle down or something.

 **MythicalMischief:** And?

 **NYWolf109:** I like getting online and talking to you.

 **MythicalMischief:** I’m flattered.

 **NYWolf109:** But

 **MythicalMischief:** But?

 **NYWolf109:** We haven’t met.

 **MythicalMischief:** I am up for it dude, if you are. Like literally up at the moment.

 **NYWolf109:** I don’t doubt it.

 **MythicalMischief:** But you’re still not ready for it.

 **NYWolf109:** There are complications. And I’m dealing with a lot of pressure. And if we’re not in the same area

 **MythicalMischief:** I get it. I really do. All my friends are like, pair-bonded. Met in high school or college, never dated anyone else. They just all get each other, and they’ll be perfect forever. Out of six of us, the one other single guy is as good as bonded himself. And then there’s me, little old lonely omega. I don’t even need a fucking alpha. I just

 **NYWolf109:** You should date.

 **MythicalMischief:** What? Dude.

 **NYWolf109:** I know we’ve got this—we’re whatever we are. But it’s not fair of me to say we can’t see each other because I’m still settling in, and keep you from living your life at the same time.

 **MythicalMischief:** There honestly isn’t anyone.

 **NYWolf109:** Honestly?

 **MythicalMischief:** There’s one guy, but he’s so far out of my league. And, like just about everyone else in my life, I’m pretty sure he hates me.

 **NYWolf109:** Maybe try again.

 **MythicalMischief:** I will as long as you—okay, I’m going to say this flat out. I don’t like this. But if there’s someone there, like if your sisters or your best friend introduce you to someone, you should go for it. Maybe get out there and find some real life guy who likes panties.

 **NYWolf109:** I’m not going to ask a guy if he’s into panties and corsets.

 **MythicalMischief:** You might be pleasantly surprised.

 **NYWolf109:** No.

 **MythicalMischief:** So, can we—is it okay if we keep doing this? Because I have new pictures for you. I got this new dildo and it was a serious pain in the ass to set up everything but I got video of it for you. The pain was from setting it up. The dildo felt really fucking good. I’ve been wanting a knotting dildo more and more lately, like I swear I am fucking craving it.

 **NYWolf109:** I want to still do this.

 **MythicalMischief:** Okay. I’m sending you the video.

 **NYWolf109:** Fuck. Just—fuck. Jesus. That sound you make. You’re stretched so—how are you even that wet?

 **MythicalMischief:** Actually, I’ve been getting wetter. I talked to the doctor and he said it happens sometimes. Environmental hormones or something. Probably an alpha around that I don’t know is there.

 **NYWolf109:** Jesus. I’m keeping this video.

 **MythicalMischief:** That’s kind of the point. Do I get one in return?

 **NYWolf109:** It’s not going to be anything special.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude, I just want to see that incredible dick of yours. Preferably getting off.

 **NYWolf109:** Yeah. Fuck. Just give me a second, because oh fuck, I am so fucking hard for you right now.

 **MythicalMischief:** If I were there, you’d be fucking my throat.

 **NYWolf109:** Fuck.

 **MythicalMischief:** Yeah. That’s good. I’m keeping your video, too.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

Derek comes in to find that his 1pm with Mason and Kira has been canceled and replaced by a two hour senior staff meeting starting at noon. _Lunch will be provided,_ Lydia wrote in the email, and Derek groans inwardly.

He’s never liked meetings, and certainly not the kind that are in the board room, with slide presentations and flip charts for brainstorming. He’d rather work hands on in small groups and get something done.

On the other hand, he’s senior staff here at Mythimoderna and he needs to make a good impression. Not to mention that he’s not sure exactly who qualifies as senior staff, and it would be helpful to know that.

He spots Erica and Boyd carrying in boxes at quarter to twelve, Elise trailing behind them. She has a day off school for some kind of staff development day. Derek offered to bring her into the office, but now he’s glad she isn’t stuck here while he’s trapped in a two hour meeting.

Besides, in her tiny apron emblazoned with Moonlit Madness, Elise is the perfect miniature companion to her parents. Derek steps into the conference room, willing to be early for the meeting just so he can see his goddaughter rush around the table, neatly placing napkins, plastic silverware, and plates.

As the door softly thunks closed, Elise looks over and her eyes go wide. “Derek!” she shouts, dropping her remaining plates on the table and rushing over. She leaps into his arms and he swings her up, smacking a kiss against her cheek.

“Hey, kiddo. I thought you didn’t want to come to work with me, and here you are,” Derek laughs.

“Mommy said I couldn’t go to work with you because I had to help her with a Really Important Lunch,” Elise says, and Derek can hear the capitals in her words. She pats his cheeks. “Next time I have a day off I’ll come with you and type all your important letters. I type really good. I know how to use the backspace and the save button and everything. I got one hundred on my last spelling test, too.”

“I may take you up on that, but you’ll have to ask your mommy, too.” Derek squeezes her before setting her down. She wraps her hand around his fingers, and drags him with her, and together they finish setting the table. Derek lays everything out as Elise directs him.

The door opens, and there’s a wash of thick scent. Derek sneezes before he can stop himself.

“Bless you,” Elise says, patting Derek’s hand.

He manages to look up, and Stiles is standing there in the doorway, Danny behind him. Stiles looks as if he’d turn around and go out, but Danny blocks the way, and Lydia comes up behind both of them, shoving lightly at Danny.

“Go sit,” she orders. “Do not block the door for the pregnant woman. I want to put my feet up. Jackson—” She cuts off, pointing at one chair at the end of the table. Jackson enters and sits, while Lydia sits next to him. She leans back and props her feet on Jackson’s lap, sighing when he peels the pump off of one foot and digs his fingers into the arch of her foot.

Elise tugs at Derek’s hand and he crouches down so she can whisper in his ear. “Are these your new work friends?” she asks, loud enough that he’s certain that most of them have heard it. “Can I stay? Mommy and Daddy said you have a meeting. Daddy says meetings are boring, but I’ve never been to one. I’ll be good.”

“Not today.” Derek keeps his focus on Elise. Inside the enclosed room, Stiles’s scent is too heavy to ignore. It thrums under his skin, and the distraction helps. Derek lifts her, keeps her out of the way as Erica and Boyd finish setting up a buffet on a side table, and everyone else trickles in.

The boardroom is big, but the entirety of the senior staff plus Erica and Boyd fill it. Stiles finally sits between Lydia and Danny, his notebook on the table, and head resting on his crossed arms like he’s going to take a nap. Scott, Allison, and Kira come in still talking about a project, and Mason hurries to catch up and add his opinion. Cora comes in last, a stack of folders in her arms. She smiles sharply at Derek.

That smile never, ever bodes well.

“Let me just take this back.” Erica grips Elise and carefully lifts her from Derek’s arms. She needs to tug because Derek is loathe to let her go.

“Do you need help carrying anything out?” Derek asks. He takes a step toward Boyd, who is still packing up the empty boxes, and stops when Lydia coughs.

“Sit down, Derek. Please.” It sounds polite, but it’s an order. Lydia arches a perfect eyebrow, and Derek sinks into the nearest chair as the only available option.

Erica pats his shoulder, leans in and kisses his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight for dinner,” she whispers.

They didn’t have plans, but apparently they do now. “Yeah,” Derek mutters. “Looking forward to seeing everyone.” Because he’s pretty sure that it might be time to rip the band-aid off. Especially since Cora’s looking between Derek and Stiles & Danny, her head cocked and nostrils flared.

“And I’m sure everyone’s looking forward to seeing you.” She understands him, and Derek knows their whole pack will be there for dinner. Erica pats him one more time, then sweeps out of the room.

“Oh _dude_ , you got lunch from Moonlit Madness.” Scott groans loudly. “I love you so much, Lydia.”

“Thank Cora, actually.” Lydia gestures. “Erica is part of her pack, and Cora thought it might make a fitting welcome for Derek’s first senior staff meeting to have his pack here, however briefly.”

Stiles makes a choked noise, muffled by the fact that he’s still face down against his folded arms. He jerks like he’s been kicked under the table and sits up, face red. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He raises a hand. “Hi, everyone. Welcome to Mythimoderna, Derek. Again. Sorry I screwed with your computer. Mason’ll do all your help desk work from now on. You won’t have to see me except when we’re working on a project. Or here.” He flinches. “Damn it, Lydia, quit it.”

“That was Jackson,” she says mildly. “Are you done? Derek doesn’t hate you, Stiles. He hasn’t complained about your behavior to me, or to HR, so I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop worrying.”

“Magical static,” Stiles mutters.

It’s not static.

Yes, it feels like something prickling over his skin, but Derek doesn’t think it’s just magic. It’s something else, luring him in. It’s hard to sit across the table from him, to see him within reach and not be able to bridge that distance and touch him. Derek wants to lick his skin, see if it tastes like it smells.

And his dick is fucking hard again.

This is not the fucking time.

“Derek has been here for four weeks now,” Lydia says, “and I thought it was time that we all get together and properly introduce ourselves. I know that most of us have worked with him in some capacity, but he hasn’t had a chance to work with everyone. Also, while most of us are generally open about our supernatural status,” she barely pauses as she raises an eyebrow at Danny, “it sometimes helps to fit a name to a face along with a description. Scott, as Mythimoderna is comprised at least in part by your pack, you’ll begin.”

Scott has a mouthful of some kind of sandwich. Derek doesn’t know when he got up to get it, and he’s the only one with food on his plate. He sets down the part still in his hand, and chews quickly. “Okay. Hi. I’m Scott, and I’m a bitten wolf. It happened when I was a teenager and it was pretty traumatic, but Stiles got me through it. And I’m kind of a True Alpha, which is weird as fuck and Jackson hates it, but it helps keep us all together.”

True Alpha isn’t a term Derek’s heard often. He’s surprised Laura didn’t mention this part to him, but then, since Scott didn’t have to inherit the alpha spark when someone died, maybe it makes it easier for them to co-exist in the same space.

“Hunter,” Allison says. “Also, despite keeping my maiden name, I’m married to this guy, which means Stiles is my brother-in-law. Which you probably know from the bios on our site, but yes, Mythimoderna is very much a family place. We’re excited to have you here, Derek. We love Cora and we enjoy working with Laura.”

“That’s not something I’d expect to hear.” Derek goes silent when they all look at him, and it occurs to him that they have no idea how his pack his. How teasingly sarcastic they are.

Cora snickers.

“She can be a lot to handle,” Derek mumbles.

“I’ve known Stiles for a long time. Laura’s easy,” Allison says with a grin. “Besides, you should see her and Lydia together. Or maybe you don’t want to. They’re terrifyingly effective.”

“I refuse to introduce myself, since I’m pretty sure Derek’s known me since birth,” Cora says. “Besides. I’m saving my voice for when I have to argue with all of you about this.” She pats the stack of folders lying on the table in front of her.

“You’re scaring me, Cora,” Stiles mutters.

She bares her teeth. “Good.”

The rush of Stiles’s heart trips against Derek’s skin, strokes over him. It’s getting harder to stay under control, and he really hopes no one else smells his arousal.

Derek manages to stumble through an explanation of his time at Columbia and grad school, and his employment in NYC. He has no idea what he actually says, a part of his brain worried that his dick is dripping and is going to leave a stain.

He needs to get this sorted and he can’t even stand up to escape.

Cora nudges him under the table, a hard knock against his knee. He winces and refuses to look at her.

Kira’s a Kitsune, and Jackson’s a born wolf who didn’t know until he hit puberty. Lydia’s a Banshee, Danny refuses to divulge anything more than that he’s on the supernatural spectrum, and Stiles is, as he said, magical. Of them all, only Mason is human.

And Derek is barely hanging on.

“Get food, then we’ll talk.” Lydia taps the table, and it’s a signal for everyone but Derek and Cora to rise and go to the buffet.

Cora leans over and whispers to Derek, “Seriously? Here? Now?”

He glares at her. “This is not my fault.”

“Fucking Christ, I know I called him an incubus but seriously,” Cora mutters. “They’re all distracted. Just go. I’ll say you had to pee or something. But you’d better not take too long or I am going to make your life a living hell.” She taps the stack of folders in front of her for emphasis.

Derek can’t help it; he looks down at them. He can see name on every single one, his on the top one. “What are those?”

“Portfolios. I have team building planned.” Cora smiles sweetly. “Get back quickly and maybe I’ll even partner you with Danny. Take too long and you’ll be stuck with Stiles.”

Derek isn’t sure whether that’s punishment or enticement, but at least it means Erica didn’t break confidence. “Fine.” He keeps his portfolio in front of his crotch when he rises, his back toward the crowd even though that puts him facing the glass window.

Lydia coughs. “Derek?”

“Need to….”

“Bio break,” Cora fills in.

“And there’s a call I need to make. After that,” Derek adds.

“During our staff meeting.” Lydia’s tone is low and dry. “Derek, I—”

“It’s a client, and we were supposed to meet today and I need to get this information so that I’ll be able to finish his drawings. I promised. He said he had some new additions that might require research from Mason, and I don’t want to end up going over budget or past our deadline.” Derek spits out words as fast as he can, praying that Lydia accepts the excuse. He risks turning slightly, meets her gaze and pastes on as charming a smile as he can manage. “His message sounds urgent.” Derek tilts his phone as if the non-existent message is right there.

“Fine. Be quick.”

He makes his escape before anyone else can say anything. Or see anything.

#

Derek manages to get into the bathroom safely. He drops his portfolio on the edge of a sink, then locks himself in a stall. He unzips his trousers and winces as he manages to get his cock out. His underwear is damp, a sticky thread dripping from the tip; he rolls his hand over the head and strokes the slick drip down.

He’s so fucking sensitive. His knees shake as he strokes down to the root, and he’s never been like this, never felt like his skin is this tight, like he’s about to burst. He leans against the side wall, head against his arm, and breathes out roughly. Fuck. Just… fuck.

Images slide through his head. The way Stiles stared at him, mouth slightly open. The latest video MythicalMischief sent, the knotted dildo stretching his slick rim obscenely.

Derek bites back a groan, twists his hand around the base of his dick. His hips jerk forward, a new thin stream of fluid dripping.

It feels so good.

It feels too good.

He turns, because he shouldn’t be doing this at all but if he’s going to do this, he can’t just shoot on the wall and leave a mess. He has to aim, has to do his best to get off cleanly in the bathroom and go back to a meeting and not get hard all over again.

This is too risky, but he can’t stop now.

He strokes himself, using the drips to slick himself, and he’s not sure why it seems to work so well. Why every touch makes him tingle. Why rotating his hand around the base is so good, making him shudder with an almost orgasm every time.

He fucks into his hand, biting his lip hard.

Wait.

Fuck.

His cock is thicker now. It’s fucking thicker at the base, soft and spongy and when he strokes his finger along the gland he shudders and almost comes, a thin stream shooting out.

This isn’t possible.

But it’s happening.

It’s happening.

Derek fucks into his hand and there’s a fucking knot at the base of his dick, filling his palm. He locks his fingers tight around it, clamps down like it would feel if he were fucking into a tight, slick hole, and that’s enough.

He comes with the image of Stiles’s mouth in his mind, unable to control the low groan.

He comes again when his hand goes tight around the knot as he thinks about the way MythicalMischief looks spattered in his own fluids after his orgasm.

He comes a third time just because he’s still touching himself, and he can’t seem to stop.

Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and he stares down at his hand, covered in thick, white streaks. This has never happened to him before, and it shouldn’t even be possible, but that’s a fucking knot.

He has no idea how he’s going to get back to that meeting in time now.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

**NYWolf109:** Put the corset on a wish list so I can send it to you. I won’t need to know your address.

 **MythicalMischief:** I might be willing to give you my address.

 **NYWolf109:** I don’t want it until we’re going to meet. I might be tempted.

 **MythicalMischief:** By my skinny ass?

 **NYWolf109:** Your ass is pretty much perfect. I’m buying the corset in red, with the matching thong, and the garter clips and stockings.

 **MythicalMischief:** Do we need to add dominance to our list of things to discuss?

 **NYWolf109:** What? No. I just

 **MythicalMischief:** It’s okay. I mean. Just—it’s okay.

 **NYWolf109:** I had a weird day. Something strange happened.

 **MythicalMischief:** And you’re compensating for it by buying me a corset.

 **NYWolf109:** I want to think about you wearing that corset. I want to think about bending you over your bed, and eating you out, while you’re wearing that corset. Moving that stupid little thong string to one side so I can finger you open, and so I can fuck you.

 **MythicalMischief:** Jesus. Yes. Can we set a date for this already?

 **NYWolf109:** Soon. I have a medical issue I need to look into.

 **MythicalMischief:** Are you okay?

 **NYWolf109:** Probably. If I survive the next few days I’ll be fine.

 **MythicalMischief:** Survive? What the hell?

 **NYWolf109:** I’m exaggerating. I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m not dying. Just something weird going on that I need to talk to someone about before it gets any stranger.

 **MythicalMischief:** You’ve got me worried.

 **NYWolf109:** Don’t be. How do you feel about knots?

 **MythicalMischief:** Way to change the subject, Mr. I’m-Not-An-Alpha. Thinking about getting a prosthetic?

 **NYWolf109:** Maybe.

 **MythicalMischief:** You’ve seen me with a knotted dildo in my ass. Do you really have to ask that question?

 **NYWolf109:** Have you ever had a real one?

 **MythicalMischief:** Actually—no. Never met a person with one that I wanted to have fuck me. But if you’re planning something to get me somehow knotted with you, know that I am all in for that. Your dick, my ass, and a knot? It all sounds fucking amazing, dude.

 **NYWolf109:** Go make the wish list.

 **NYWolf109:** Please.

 **MythicalMischief:** Since you asked so nicely. Here you go.

 **NYWolf109:** And there you go. One gift bought. You’ll get it next week.

 **MythicalMischief:** Whatever should we do to tide us over until then? Do you want me to get out the knotted dildo.

 **NYWolf109:** Yeah.

 **NYWolf109:** Hey.

 **MythicalMischief:** What?

 **NYWolf109:** I have a thing this week. A work thing. I’ll probably be away from the computer most of the time. I’m not even sure I can bring my personal laptop anyway, and I’m not logging into this site from my work laptop.

 **MythicalMischief:** No worries. I have a big project that’s going to keep me busy. And involves traveling.

 **NYWolf109:** Okay. Good. But after

 **MythicalMischief:** Next week?

 **NYWolf109:** Yes. Next week.

 **MythicalMischief:** What?

 **NYWolf109:** Tell me when you get the package. We’ll pick a place to meet then.

 **MythicalMischief:** How are we supposed to pick a place when we don’t even know where on the west coast each other is? We could be twelve hours travel apart. Or it could involve flying.

 **NYWolf109:** Northern California.

 **MythicalMischief:** Oh.

 **NYWolf109:** Oh?

 **MythicalMischief:** Yeah. Oh. Me too.

 **NYWolf109:** Good. Then neither of us has to fly.

 **MythicalMischief:** Are we really going to do this?

 **NYWolf109:** Next week we set a place. And a date. Yes.

 **MythicalMischief:** Fuck. Yes. Good.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

“I can’t believe you’re making me go to see someone about this,” Derek mutters under his breath.

Laura grabs his upper arm, fingers digging in with alpha strength. “You’re barely talking to me about it, and it’s strange enough that I want you seen. I’ll stay as your alpha, or I’ll go. Or I’ll stay as your alpha and order you to talk to her, if I need to.”

“Who am I seeing anyway?” Derek wants to dig his heels in, but this is Laura, and he’s never been able to say no. Not since the womb. She’s always been the twin in charge.

Laura stops as soon as they get into the building. It’s an old brick facade, but the interior is bright and new and welcoming. Derek recognizes Allison’s touch in the lobby, and Kira’s choice of fonts for the signs, including the big one behind the front desk. Mythimoderna designed this space.

  
**Beacon Hills Family Planning**  
_Let us be the Beacon to guide you to your family when you desire_

 

Derek stops. “Laura,” he says, voice low. “You brought me to a fertility clinic?”

She’s at the front desk, leaning in to speak to the girl there. “Melissa, please. My brother Derek has an 8 o’clock appointment, and she knows he needs to get to work after.” Laura turns to glance back at him. “I brought you to the one person I know and trust to deal with your problem, Derek.”

There are only three other people in the room—two young women sitting together in the waiting room, and the girl at the front desk—and Derek swears they are all staring at him.

“I don’t have a problem,” he growls.

“I beg to differ,” Laura snaps. “If your—”

He cuts her off with a growl, eyes flashing. Her mouth snaps shut and she takes a step back.

A flood of scent fills his senses. Sweet, soft, calming.

His eyes fade as he starts sneezing.

“Well, shit,” Laura says, and grabs the box of tissues from the receptionist’s desk.

“Sorry,” the receptionist apologizes. “We have programmed defenses for when an alpha gets all alpha-ish, and they went off. Very few alphas have this kind of reaction.”

“I’m not an alpha,” Derek growls, the sound fading quickly as he fights to maintain control. He doesn’t want to be showered by more of whatever that particular pheromone was.

“Laura.”

The voice comes from the side, but Derek’s sneezing again and can’t see the woman calling. He trusts Laura to take him there, hand in hand. They pass through a door into a large office with plenty of comfortable seating. Laura nudges Derek into a love seat, and gives him a trash bin for his used tissues.

“Here.” A glass of water is pressed into his hand, and he drinks it, exchanging it for a cold, damp cloth after. It takes time, but the sneezing finally fades and he feels as if he can breathe normally again.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Derek.”

He looks over at the woman who sits perched on one of the wingback chairs. He likes her smile—sweet and genuine. In some ways she reminds him of his mother, only younger than she would be if she were alive.

“I’m Melissa.” She holds out her hand, and Derek takes it. “And I have to disagree with what you said out in the lobby.”

She’s not a wolf, but she smells like one, familiar in a way that bothers Derek. It trips his senses and he leans in, stopping only when Melissa leans back out of reach, although they remain tethered by their clasped hands. Laura coughs, and Derek apologizes, releasing her. “Sorry.”

Melissa glances from Derek to Laura, brow furrowing. “Laura, you are the alpha of your pack, yes?”

Laura nods. “Since the fire, yes. It passed from my mother to me, bypassed Peter completely. We always knew I would be.” She glances at Derek. “Just like we always knew Derek wouldn’t.”

“And yet….” Melissa’s voice trails off, and Derek tries not to squirm.

“Derek has had some concerning experiences recently,” Laura says, her tone carefully neutral.

“The outburst in the waiting room among them,” Melissa says.

“No,” Derek protests, a soft growl under his words. “That wasn’t—I’m not an alpha.”

“From the symptoms described, it sounds as if sexually, you are experiencing a second maturation,” Melissa says. “And that yes, you are meant to be an alpha. Your eyes flashed red in the waiting room, when you argued with your sister. I would say you are an alpha in rank as well.”

Laura looks at Derek, and Derek looks at her. He raises his eyebrows, shrugs, and hers furrow as she looks away.

That’s not possible. “None of that is possible,” he says aloud.

“It is possible to ascend to alpha status without killing another alpha. My son is a True Alpha,” Melissa says, and Derek blinks, because he’s pretty sure that’s not a coincidence. “You work with him: Scott McCall.”

“Is it possible that joining Scott’s firm, and being around Scott’s pack—”

Melissa cuts off Laura’s question. “It hasn’t affected Cora adversely. In fact, the issues I first saw her for, years ago, seem to have lessened while she works with his pack.”

“Issues?” This isn’t something Derek has heard about, and he’s not sure they’re going to tell him. He pulls his phone from his pocket, tries to ignore the way Melissa and Laura seem to be having a conversation without speaking.

He opens up a text message to his younger sister. _Cora. I’m talking to Melissa Scott’s mom and she said that working with Scott had a good effect on you. Can I ask why?_

His phone rings. Derek ignores the looks from Melissa and Laura and answers it on speaker. “Hi, Cora,” he says, and they both glance at each other, nodding as if they understand.

“Why are you meeting with Melissa McCall?” Cora asks. “You don’t have periods. You don’t even have a girlfriend so why are you meeting with a fertility specialist?”

“He has—”

Derek claps a hand over Laura’s mouth. “Mine to tell. Which is why I texted Cora because if she has something to tell maybe the two things are linked,” he mutters.

“My cycle was all messed up,” Cora says. “I’d have like three periods in a month sometimes, and then I’d go six months without. I met with Melissa because she’s pretty cool and while the entire place deals with supernatural physiology, and works a lot with alphas and omegas, she knows wolves in particular. Peter met with her once, when he was with this woman who wanted to know if they could interbreed. She’s a harpy, and the answer was no, so she dumped him.”

That was all far more information that he ever wanted to know about his sister or his uncle. “And?”

“Cora and I worked together to find a therapy that would help stabilize her cycle,” Melissa says.

“And it got stable enough after I started at Mythimoderna that I’m off the medication now,” Cora says. “We figure there are enough hormones and pheromones at that place that something keeps me stable. Or maybe having two packs. Or who knows, maybe I respond better to Kitsune or something.”

“I have a knot.” Derek lets the words fall flat into the air.

Silence, for a long moment, then a burst of laughter from the phone. “You’re kidding,” Cora says.

“He’s not.” Laura leans back, her arms crossed. “I have had the most embarrassing morning ever because my twin had to come to his alpha and ask why the fuck his dick changed. And I don’t know. So we came to see Melissa.”

Silence again, and Derek isn’t sure what to say next. Melissa is writing something down, and Laura has her arms crossed so tight that Derek can see as well as smell her tension.

Cora coughs. “So. This happened after you started working at Mythimoderna? Maybe you’re reacting to it like I did.”

“I didn’t have a period that needed regulating,” Derek grumbles.

“No, but maybe you didn’t mature into your full alpha nature when you should have,” Melissa murmurs. “The fire happened when you were sixteen, right? It’s possible that you have had the potential to become an alpha and it was suppressed.” She pauses, giving him a moment to come to terms with the thought. “Working with Scott’s pack had a positive effect on Cora’s system, not an adverse one. It’s very possible that this is positive for you as well.”

“Pretty sure it’s kitsune pheromones for me,” Cora mutters, and Derek doesn’t think she meant for them to hear that.

Laura’s head is cocked, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

Yeah, Laura didn’t know that. And Derek can use that to his advantage.

Derek picks up his phone, puts it in Laura’s hand. “Why don’t you talk to Cora, while I finish up with Melissa,” he says.

Cora makes a muffled sound, but Laura switches off the speaker, whispers something that Derek can’t hear. “I’ll be in the waiting room,” Laura murmurs, slightly louder, and exits with the door slamming shut behind her.

Derek leans forward, elbows braced against his knees, head in his hands.

The touch to his shoulder is comforting. As soon as Melissa leans forward, Derek inhales to taste the scent of Scott lingering around her, mixed with Allison, and a strong scent of Stiles as well. There are scents he doesn’t know, but he recognizes them from the office, vague and in the background.

“You spend a lot of time with Stiles,” he mumbles, talking to the floor.

“It would be less if his father could convince him to get his own apartment,” Melissa answers with a soft laugh. “I think Stiles just likes being around Caryn, and I don’t mind the help.”

Derek has no idea what she’s talking about, but it sounds nice. It keeps him from struggling with what’s going on, with the idea that he might be an alpha. That he might come into conflict with his own twin. That he might have issues at work because of Scott. He groans, pressing the heels of his hands against his eye sockets.

“What’s wrong?” Melissa sits in the seat that Laura vacated, next to him.

Derek shakes his head. All of his thoughts seem obvious—alpha conflicts, sensitivity. It was hard enough trying to talk to his twin and alpha about this. Melissa might smell like Scott and Stiles, but she’s still a stranger. “Nothing,” he mumbles. “What do you think I need to know? Like Laura said, we never expected this. I’m not exactly prepared.”

“We should talk about what you can expect,” Melissa suggests gently. “I’ve never worked with an alpha maturing this late in life, but I’ll see what I can find for other cases out there. I suspect you may have encountered a trigger. Something or someone that pushed past the block to unlock this piece of yourself that you repressed.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Derek lies. He looks away when Melissa waits, quietly. “I’ll figure it out. Just as long as—you think it’s normal. That this is what’s real now. I’m an alpha.” He lets the wolf loose under his skin just enough to flash his eyes.

She shakes her head. “Not all the way, not yet, but you’re getting there. There were red eyes in the waiting room, Derek. And you have a knot. I don’t think it’s going to go back to where you were, but you’re not fully an alpha yet, either.”

“That’s not how it works.” Derek remembers when the alpha spark flooded into Laura, when she roared and flashed her eyes red for the first time. It never changed back after that, not once.

“In this case, it is,” Melissa says softly. “You’re maturing, and it may take further exposure to your trigger. Welcome to your second puberty, Derek.”

Wonderful.

He rises, takes a step toward the door. When he turns back, Melissa sits back in her chair, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap.

“There’s this scent in the office,” Derek says slowly. “Two scents, really. One makes me sneeze.”

“Like you did in the waiting room,” Melissa says, and he nods.

“The other—” Derek licks his lips, unwilling to say the rest. He really doesn’t need to tell someone else about the unexpected and poorly timed erections. “No one else smells it.”

Melissa stands, puts her hands on his shoulders and nudges him toward the door. “You should see if you can figure out who it is.” When he looks at her, she smiles gently. “Yes, I said who. It doesn’t happen for everyone, but there are some supernatural creatures who are lucky enough to have mates. That one person who is exactly what they are looking for, platonically or romantically. When Scott met Allison he nearly drove Stiles insane talking about how she smelled. We researched after that. We suspect that Jackson and Lydia are the same, but they’ve been together so long, no one can really tell.”

Kitsune pheromones for Cora.

The way Stiles smells for Derek.

It makes sense. “Thank you,” he says.

“If you want to come back when you’re ready for family planning, feel free to ask for me,” Melissa says. “I know your family would welcome growth in your pack.”

That’s something Derek’s not quite ready to discuss. Or think about. He thanks her again, walks out and through the lobby, past where Laura is still talking to Cora in hushed tones. It gets him five minutes of peace at the car, before Laura joins him.

It’s not enough, but it’ll have to do. He needs time to think.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

**NYWolf109:** Why do you need pictures to distract you?

 **MythicalMischief:** Because I hate traveling. Loathe it. It’s like I have to spend a week being someone I’m not.

 **NYWolf109:** Why?

 **MythicalMischief:** There’s this woman in HR, and I really like her. I mean, we’re friends and all. But she has some weird ideas about pack and about how if we’re traveling in any kind of a group of two or more, we should share rooms. I once had to share a room with another couple. An actual couple in the other bed. She says it’s good for the pack and for our work relationships. I say it’s terrible for my libido.

 **NYWolf109:** Because you can’t jerk off?

 **MythicalMischief:** Yes! I may have been caught once watching porn on my laptop while I was locked in the bathroom. In my defense, I was desperate.

 **NYWolf109:** Do you bring two laptops with you?

 **MythicalMischief:** I’m part of the group that manages our laptops. No one’s going to monitor whether I watch porn on mine or not.

 **NYWolf109:** So you blatantly misuse company property.

 **MythicalMischief:** I have an in with the owners. It’s okay.

 **NYWolf109:** I think I’m bringing my personal laptop on my trip, too. It’s that or the phone.

 **MythicalMischief:** Or we could go cold turkey while we’re both busy.

 **NYWolf109:** Weren’t you just complaining about that? Wait. You’re not planning on looking at pictures of me when you have a roommate, are you?

 **MythicalMischief:** One roommate. Three roommates. I don’t know what she has planned this time, but I’m really hoping I get lucky.

 **NYWolf109:** With your roommate?

 **MythicalMischief:** Doubtful. Almost everyone I work with is paired off already, or way, way out of my league.

 **NYWolf109:** Oh. Right.

 **MythicalMischief:** What?

 **NYWolf109:** Nothing.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **NYWolf109:** You said that before. That there was a guy you were interested in.

 **MythicalMischief:** You said there was a guy you were interested in, too.

 **NYWolf109:** It didn’t go anywhere. I couldn’t—I mean, I could. But there’s you, too. It gets complicated in my head.

 **MythicalMischief:** I get you. Believe me, I do.

 **NYWolf109:** Next week.

 **MythicalMischief:** How about we set a date now, and set an address on Sunday night?

 **NYWolf109:** Okay. I was thinking I could take Monday off after this trip.

 **MythicalMischief:** I can do that. As long as wherever we decide on is within a couple of hours drive.

 **NYWolf109:** Okay. That’s done. We’re meeting on Monday.

 **MythicalMischief:** Are you sure you don’t want to set a place yet?

 **NYWolf109:** I need to be able to think about work for the next few days. If we get everything set, all I’m going to be thinking about is fucking you.

 **MythicalMischief:** Is that bad?

 **NYWolf109:** For my job, yes.

 **MythicalMischief:** I’m going to be thinking about it. Probably pretty much all the time. Like, I sit in meetings sometimes and I start thinking about you, and I’m wet as fuck. I end up going home and getting off before I even make it to dinner. Sometimes I shower twice a day.

 **NYWolf109:** You’re joking.

 **MythicalMischief:** Only kind of. Some days really are like that.

 **NYWolf109:** I jerked off in the bathroom at work once.

 **MythicalMischief:** Seriously?

 **MythicalMischief:** Wait, were you thinking about me?

 **NYWolf109:** Yeah.

 **MythicalMischief:** Wow. Just… wow. I’m kind of honored by that.

 **NYWolf109:** I’m not surprised.

 **MythicalMischief:** I’m really going to miss you. I’ll still be checking messages if I can.

 **NYWolf109:** I might on my phone. Or if I bring my own laptop.

 **MythicalMischief:** I am totally going to fuck myself on my own fingers in the shower while I think about you. I might wear panties while doing it.

 **NYWolf109:** The red ones. Not the thong that goes with the corset—those are for next Monday. The ones with the lace heart over your dick.

 **MythicalMischief:** I’ll send you a picture?

 **NYWolf109:** Yeah. Send me one with your fingers in your ass. Show me how wet you are for me. Think about me licking you.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **NYWolf109:** How close are you? Oh shit, you’re

 **MythicalMischief:** Three fingers already, baby, and that’s all for you.

 **NYWolf109:** Hang on.

 **MythicalMischief:** What, no panties. Wait, is that

 **NYWolf109:** Fuck yes. Just for you.

 **MythicalMischief:** Jesus fucking Christ, I think your orgasm could fill a bucket.

 **NYWolf109:** I have a knot.

 **MythicalMischief:** I want to ask how so bad, but I also just want you to fuck me with it first and talk about it later.

 **NYWolf109:** Monday.

 **MythicalMischief:** Fuck, yeah.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

Derek gets off the bus as soon as it stops. He has his laptop bag over his shoulder, clutching it close to his side as something to hold onto. He’d have his overnight bag as well, but Cora insisted that all baggage go in the luggage space under the bus. She’d tried to take the laptop bag as well, but Derek had successfully argued—with backup from Danny, Mason, and Stiles—that sensitive equipment shouldn’t be rattling around in the underbelly of the beast.

“You don’t have to stare at it like it’s a dragon about to eat you,” Cora murmurs, sliding close to him.

The bus is empty, the driver starting to pull luggage out and set it on the sidewalk.

“I don’t like buses, but you know that,” Derek grumbles. His stomach is still churning, and stale odor of combustion fumes filling his nose. “Why couldn’t I drive my own car again?”

“Because then you could leave.” Cora pats his shoulder, harder than she needs to. “This is team building, and we’re not going home until Sunday. And the first rule is: nobody leaves.” She walks away, grabbing a leather bag as soon as it emerges from cargo. She reaches in, pulls out that same thick sheaf of file folders that Derek remembers from the meeting he so abruptly left. Leaving the bag on the ground, she calls out, “Everybody get your bags and gather ‘round. I have your schedules and room assignments here.”

Derek finds the bag Laura gave him for Christmas the year before. It’s a dark grey, with a pale blue wolf embroidered on one side, the word “Awooo!” embroidered just below. It doesn’t feel professional enough to be using on a work retreat, but at the same time, it’s the only thing he had that was the right size for a few days’ worth of clothes.

On the other hand, Stiles has Spiderman stickers on the outside of his bag, so professional might not be something Derek needs to worry about.

They all crowd in close to Cora, and she makes a big show of flipping through the packets and handing them out. Derek’s surprised to hear that Jackson’s rooming with Danny, while Lydia will be with Cora. Allison and Scott have been split up as well, Allison rooming with Kira, while Scott gets Mason.

Which leaves Stiles for Derek.

Cora raises her eyebrows when Derek reaches for his folder. “I warned you, and you still disappeared from that meeting,” she says quietly. “Maybe next time you’ll listen.”

He takes the folder, flips it open without looking at it. “I’m only forgiving you since you split yourself up from Kira,” he mutters, swallowing a laugh when she makes an outraged sound. “Kitsune pheromones,” he whispers, and is rewarded by a bright flush high on her cheeks.

“It’s a team building retreat, not a couples retreat,” Cora retorts. She raises her voice to address the group. “I need to go inside and get the keys and actual rooms, so wait here. After that you have a half hour to settle into your room, review the packets, and meet back down by the pool.”

Derek glances down at the schedule and _Cocktails by the Pool, 4-5pm_ is at the top of Thursday’s schedule. It’s just past three, so everything seems to be going according to Cora’s plans so far.

“So. Hey.”

Derek closes the portfolio with a snap, fixes a smile as best he can when Stiles’s scent washes over him. “Hi,” he says, expression and tone tight.

Stiles’s face falls. “So. I know you’re probably not enthused about having to spend three nights and four days in my company. I’ll do my best not to leak magic all over the place, but that’s kind of my thing, and honestly, Cora probably stuck you with me to get you used to it. I’m an acquired taste, and if we’re going to be working together, you probably need to acquire me.” He hesitates, coughs. “The taste. You need to acquire the taste of me, oh shit, that didn’t come out right either. Please don’t tell Cora I’m sexually harassing you. It’s accidental, I swear.”

“You’re not sexually harassing me,” Derek echoes. Because he can’t explain to Cora what, exactly, Stiles is doing. Not without having another awkward conversation with a family member, and it was bad enough that he ended up having a family meeting about his dick.

Stiles’s exhales, shoulders losing their tension. “Okay. Good. Good. I just—things come out of my mouth sometimes, and you being all… you.” Stiles waves a hand in Derek’s direction. “You make it hard to think.”

That almost sounds like flirting.

Derek tries not to think about MythicalMischief. Just for a few seconds.

He lets the corner of his mouth curl up, rakes his own gaze over Stiles and his body goes tight when Stiles flushes, a fresh wash of scent wafting over him. “We could talk about that later.”

“Now who’s sexually harassing who?” Stiles quips, then facepalms. “God. No. That did not mean I want you to stop. I mean. If you’re flirting, please feel free to continue.”

It’s an abrupt switch between them, and Derek isn’t quite sure what to do with it. Especially when he’s going to be rooming with Stiles for three nights, and everything is going to smell like him. Derek spots Cora heading back, and he gestures. “I’m going to get the key. Let’s go up and unpack. And apparently find bathing suits.”

“Yeah. Okay. I can do that.” Stiles catches up as soon as Derek has the key in hand, and they head up to the sixth floor together.

For a moment, just before the door opens, Derek wonders just how much Cora knows, and wonders whether there will be one bed or two. He’s relieved when he spots two, each buried under a pile of pillows and a floral comforter.

Stiles drops his Spiderman-stickered bag on the one nearest the bathroom. “I wake up at night sometimes, and it’s easier if I can just sneak into the bathroom with my laptop,” he says. “I don’t want to wake you up.”

It makes Derek think of what he’d do if he were online in the middle of the night, and he bites his tongue before he can say anything. “Fine,” he manages, letting his own bag fall on the other bed. “I’m going to unpack. Hate living out of a bag.”

Stiles’s eyes are wide and dark, pupils thick. “I—” He cuts off. “Shower. I’m going to shower. Bus smell. And put on my bathing suit. Since pool, I guess. Okay?”

Derek focuses on pulling two laptops out of his laptop case. He plugs in his personal one to charge, leaves the work one on the nightstand. “Okay,” he agrees, without looking up. Silence responds for a long moment, then shuffling sounds and the bathroom door closing as Stiles disappears. A moment later the water twists on, and Derek tries to relax.

He grabs his duffel and pulls it next to him as he sinks onto the bed. Everything is carefully, meticulously packed. He takes out a stack of three short sleeve henleys and two tank tops, plus a soft old t-shirt that he tosses on his pillow for sleep later. He has khaki shorts, deeming them dressy enough for being in the hotel, but cool enough to deal with the temperatures. Low socks, shoes, underwear. It’s all stacked neatly in piles on the bed, ready to be put away.

He hums under his breath, muffling any sounds he might overhear if he listened to the patterns in the way the water runs in the bathroom. When that fails, he grabs his phone and turns on music as he puts away each pile in one of the two drawers in the bureau in their room.

There’s nothing else. No swimsuit.

Fuck.

He grabs his phone, music playing in the palm of his hand as he texts Cora. _I didn’t bring a swimsuit._

_Did you even read the handouts on what to bring before packing?_

Derek glances at his bag, at the door to the bathroom as if it’s going to have answers. He shakes his head. _No. Apparently not._

He gets back a string of laughing emojis, some with tears, some with scrunched eyes. _I figured as much,_ Cora writes. _I have one for you. Want me to bring it to you? I’m only a few doors down._

_Yeah._

Derek drops the phone on the bed. He unlocks the door to the room and leaves it cracked open, then knocks on the bathroom door and calls out, “Cora’s stopping over to bring me something. Stay in the bathroom.” Just in case Stiles has any ideas about walking around in a towel.

God, Derek really hopes he does. Or doesn’t. He isn’t sure which would be better.

The door creaks open, and Derek turns quickly. Steam wafts out from under the bathroom door, and Derek’s skin warms.

Cora’s eyebrows go up. “Are you standing outside the bathroom while Stiles showers?”

Derek crosses the room, crowds into the space where she stands just inside the door. He pulls the door open with one hand, reaches for the swimsuit she holds with his other hand. “There isn’t a lot of room.”

Cora doesn’t budge. When he leans into her space, she takes a step forward, inhaling. “Oh,” she says softly.

“Don’t,” Derek says.

“It wasn’t Danny,” she whispers. She leans up on her toes, brushes a kiss against his cheek. “Come down when you’re ready. You don’t have a lot of time before we’re all supposed to be at the pool.”

She ducks out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

Derek’s pretty sure she just gave him permission to hit on his coworker and roommate during the retreat. While it’s a relief to know that the head of HR is on his side, it doesn’t make him feel any more comfortable about it.

The door to the bathroom cracks open with a rush of steam into the room. “Did I hear the door?” Stiles asks as he walks out, swim trunks hanging low on his hips, water beading on his chest. His hair has been toweled dry and sticks up in all directions.

There are moles everywhere. Derek’s gaze zeroes in on one next to Stiles’s nipple.

Stiles throws the towel on his bed. “Who stopped by?”

Shit.

Derek looks up at the ceiling, licks his lips. “Cora,” he says, raising his swimsuit. “I forgot it. She brought it to me.”

“You okay, dude?” Stiles sits down on his bed, starts digging through his bag. Derek catches a flash of red before Stiles shoves something deep into the bag, and pulls out a pair of flip flops right after. He drops them on the floor, wiggles his toes into them. “Why don’t I go down to the pool, and you can have the room to yourself for a bit. You seem kind of private.”

“I have trouble with change,” Derek says slowly.

Stiles pauses mid-step, mouth slightly open. He rocks back, tilts his head and looks at Derek. He closes his mouth, brow furrowing, and crosses his arms over his chest.

Derek stares at the moles again. He counts the line of them under Stiles’s collarbone: three, all perfectly placed if he had the opportunity to nip at them.

It’s somehow far too easy to imagine the way Stiles would moan if he did.

“Derek.”

Shit.

Derek jerks backwards, ends up sitting on the bed. “Yes. Go down to the pool. I’ll be down after I get changed.” He licks his lips, looks at Stiles’s bag. “Want me to—”

“No, God no.” Stiles grabs his bag without zipping it up and tosses it on the floor of the small closet. “I’m fine living out of a bag. I mean, I just need to find my clothes, and put the dirty things somewhere else. I need my laptop more than I need clothes.” He glances around, grabs the sleeve that holds his laptop. “I’ll just take this with me, actually.”

“To the pool.”

Stiles hesitates, then nods emphatically. “Yes. Laptop and phone at the pool. It’s not like I’m going to put them in the water. They’ll be fine if I leave them wherever Lydia sits. She’s not going to want to get wet.”

Derek doesn’t protest, not if it means Stiles is leaving. Derek keeps his hands in his lap, trying to cover up an inappropriate reaction before Stiles can notice it. He only relaxes once Stiles leaves.

He checks his watch. They got into the room faster than Cora expected, and he somehow still has fifteen minutes before he’ll be missed at the meeting.

Derek could do a lot in fifteen minutes.

But he won’t. Can’t. Not in a room he’s sharing with Stiles. Maybe a shower’s the right idea, only a cold one. A chance to rinse off after traveling, and a chance to get his head screwed on straight before he has to go act businesslike and pray that staying in the pool helps keep his libido under control.

Which isn’t going to be easy because this room already smells like Stiles. Derek has a feeling that he’s going to be constantly fighting an erection all weekend if he sleeps here.

Right. Shower.

He quickly strips. He grabs his duffel and folds it, putting it out of the way on the top shelf of the closet. Since he’s on his way to the bathroom, he picks up the wet towel that Stiles abandoned so he can hang it in over the rail.

Since he’s cleaning up, he pauses at the closet. He tosses the towel over his shoulder, trying to ignore the thick scent of Stiles on it, and leans down so he can zip Stiles’s suitcase closed.

He spots the flash of red.

Red lace.

Derek reaches in, knowing that he shouldn’t, and pulls out a pair of red lace panties with a heart on the front.

His prick fills like Pavlov’s dog hearing a bell.

Derek drops the panties, tucks them back into the suitcase and carefully leaves it unzipped, just like it was. He grabs his phone, brings it into the bathroom with him and twists on the shower. He shouldn’t do this, he really shouldn’t do this, but it won’t take long. Right?

He saved a few videos and pictures on his phone, and he brings up the one he thought of as soon as he saw that flash of red lace. Angular hips, the panties stretched taut across them, barely containing a rigid cock. The camera pans up, and Derek palms his own cock, stroking idly as he watches the pale skin of the belly revealed, then one taut nipple, a mole standing out in sharp relief against the light skin.

Wait.

Derek grips the base of his cock with one hand, clutching at the phone with his other. MythicalMischief continues to move the camera and his collarbone comes into view.

Three moles in perfect succession.

Derek wants to lick them.

“Stiles,” he whispers, thighs clenching as he comes.

Well fuck.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

**NYWolf109:** This is really inappropriate.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude. What the fuck are you doing online? I thought you said you were busy.

 **NYWolf109:** I’m busy? You’re at a work thing. Right?

 **MythicalMischief:** Um.

 **NYWolf109:** Should you even be on this chat on your laptop right now?

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude! What about you?

 **NYWolf109:** I’m on my phone.

 **MythicalMischief:** Like that makes it better.

 **NYWolf109:** At least I’m not sitting poolside pretending I’m writing code while talking to my kinky pen-pal.

 **MythicalMischief:** It’s not like we’re talking business anyway. We had like five minutes of ra-ra-ra team, then half the people jumped in the pool and everyone else is sunbathing.

 **MythicalMischief:** Wait.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **MythicalMischief:** DUDE.

 **NYWolf109:** You said that.

 **MythicalMischief:** How do you know I’m sitting by a pool?

 **NYWolf109:** It’s the moles.

 **MythicalMischief:** What?

 **NYWolf109:** And the panties.

 **MythicalMischief:** What?

 **NYWolf109:** But mostly the moles. The one next to your nipple. Every time you send me a picture, I think about biting you. But the ones under your collarbone are meant to be kissed. Maybe nipped.

 **MythicalMischief:** Jesus fucking—this is not the time to get hard.

 **NYWolf109:** I have to share a fucking room with you. I’m going to be hard all fucking weekend.

 **MythicalMischief:** Oh shit.

 **NYWolf109:** I meant to lead into that in a better way. You caught me off-guard.

 **NYWolf109:** And now you’re not saying anything. You’re staring at your computer and doing nothing.

 **NYWolf109:** Shit.

 **MythicalMischief:** Where are you going?

 **NYWolf109:** Up to the room.

 **MythicalMischief:** Give me five minutes. Ten minutes.

 **NYWolf109:** You don’t have to follow.

 **MythicalMischief:** Yeah. I kind of do. But I can’t stand up yet, and Scott’s already looking at me funny like he can smell my arousal. Which is really awkward and not something I want to talk to my brother about.

 **NYWolf109:** I had to tell my twin sister and alpha that I have a fucking knot. You can deal with your brother knowing you’re hard.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

 **NYWolf109:** Ten minutes?

 **MythicalMischief:** Yeah. Okay. Maybe only five.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

“What the fuck, dude?”

The lock beeps just before Stiles slams through, the thud of the door closing again punctuating his question. Derek flinches at the sound, weaves his fingers together and tries to breathe through the sudden influx of scent.

It’s not easy.

“Apparently the guy I know at work and the one I know online are the same person,” Derek says dryly. “The constant layering of dude into every conversation should have given it away.”

“Fuck.” Stiles exhales roughly. He grabs the desk chair and drops into it, rolling across the floor until he sits in front of Derek’s spot on the bed. Their knees almost touch. “I—you’re the out of my league guy. In case you didn’t figure that out on your own.”

Derek snorts. “Really? I’d thought it would be Danny.”

“I thought you had a thing for Danny,” Stiles counters. “Everybody gets distracted by Danny. It’s his thing. That and being Jackson’s anchor.”

“It’s not Danny,” Derek says slowly.

Stiles huffs, twists his fingers together and meets Derek’s gaze. “Yeah,” he says, echoing Derek’s words. “It’s not Danny.”

It’s strange to have him here like this. Unplanned and unexpected. No time to prepare, to ready his mind for this change. Several days early. Derek licks his lips, and Stiles tracks the motion.

It makes Derek smile to see it.

“Okay. So.” Derek tries to martial his words. He had plans for Monday, and now everything’s skewed. Off-kilter. He knows it would have been just as odd on Monday, if they had met up and suddenly saw each other. But this is even less planned. “I’m not good with change.”

Stiles’s smile quirks. “You’ve said that.”

Derek’s nostrils flare, taking in his scent. It’s thicker than it is in the office. A little sweet, strong in a way that curls in his gut. “You’re wet.”

Stiles blinks, sways on his feet. He coughs. “Uh. Yeah. Very. Not that that part’s noticeable because I’m in a swimsuit, but well.” He gestures at his crotch, and Derek can see his cock there, thick and hard, tenting the trunks.

It sends a flood of blood to Derek’s cock as well. He growls softly.

“That’s—not what I expected,” Stiles says, gaze flicking from Derek’s dick back up to his eyes.

Derek clenches his hands by his sides, struggles not to reach out. “It’s new,” he mutters. Instinct rises with a fresh flood of scent from Stiles. His eyes flash, and Stiles’s eyes go wide. “I’m an alpha now. It’s new.”

“You said that. The new part.” Stiles gestures at Derek’s face, hand dropping as if to followup with a gesture at his crotch. When Stiles looks down, he licks his lips and Derek growls softly. “So. You really have a knot now. For me.”

“For you.” Derek takes a step back, tries not to pull Stiles with him in order to wash away that flicker of hurt in his expression. “We should talk. Before anything else. We’re actually pretty good at talking.” He wants to take, to touch. Talking is too difficult when they’re both hard and leaking want. The air is suffused with an overwhelming scent of hunger.

“When we’re not staring at each other and floundering,” Stiles grumbles. “Because I see you and it’s like I forget everything. Like I said. Out of my league.”

“I’m not.” Derek feels like he has to explain, even if he trips over the words. “I’m not out of your league. And you smell….” He trails of with a small, helpless sound. “I want to lick you. Everywhere.”

“You can’t just say things like that. Dude,” Stiles whimpers.

Derek waits for it, knowing what he’ll say next.

“Dude,” Stiles says again, then louder. “Dude!”

Derek smirks. “You said that. And yes, I can. I’ve been saying it for a while, haven’t I?” If he thinks about this like their chat conversations, it’s easier. Give and take. He knows what Stiles will say, how he will respond.

“That was over a computer, not—” Stiles gestures between the two of them. “We’re a foot apart.”

“Do you want to get your computer?” Derek waves at Stiles’s bed, which isn’t his best idea. Now he’s thinking about getting Stiles on that bed, stretching him out. Stripping him, and tasting that wet slick that he can smell so clearly.

Stiles swallows, and Derek watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs. “I want the licking,” Stiles says softly. “I want this. But… we work together, Derek.”

It’s a splash of cold water, and Derek steps backwards, sinks down to sit on the edge of his bed. His sits with his knees spread, and he holds his hands out. When Stiles takes them, he draws him closer, pulls him into the circle of his body. He holds him loosely, ready to let go if he needs to.

“I’m aware,” Derek says quietly. “I walk into my office and I smell you. I knew you were there that first day, but I didn’t know it was you. I had to figure that part out. And it was driving me nuts because I was talking to you online, and falling for you there, and I wanted to meet you. But there you were in my office, and every time I smell you I feel like I need you. I have a fucking knot because of you.”

Sparks crawl over his skin, lighting every synapse. He can’t see them, but he can feel them, emanating out from Stiles. “It’s not magical static,” Derek says, holding their joined hands up. “It’s a lightning bolt crawling under my skin, lighting me up from the inside.”

Stiles licks his lips. “Is that a good thing?”

“Don’t know yet,” Derek admits. It feels like he could shatter, explode from the inside. “We’ll have to figure that out. But the fact that online you and this you are the same? That’s a really good thing.”

“Yeah.” Stiles exhales softly, a warm wash close enough to tickle Derek’s nose. “I like that you’re you.”

“I want more than just the corset,” Derek admits.

“I want to date the fuck out of you,” Stiles says firmly. “Or date and fuck you. Something like that. Just. Dude.”

Derek palms his face, brushes his thumb across Stiles’s lower lip. He loves the way Stiles’s eyes close, his mouth falling open. Derek tucks his thumb in and Stiles licks at him, closes his mouth and sucks.

Derek’s dick twitches.

“You’re coming to my apartment on Monday,” Derek whispers. “Bring the corset. We’re going to do that.”

“Tell me,” Stiles mumbles around Derek’s thumb. He fellates it like it’s Derek’s dick, and his dick aches in response.

“I’m going to strip you,” Derek whispers. He tugs Stiles closer, fitting them together crotch to crotch. He curls his hand around his ass, feeling how much wetter he is than if he were just wet from the pool. He tucks his fingers in the crack, pressing the fabric against Stiles, and Stiles whines.

“I’m going to have you put on the thong for me first, then get on your knees,” Derek murmurs. “I want you to suck me like that, until I’m hard. Until I’m aching, and you’re sopping wet. Then you have to stop.”

“Want to make you come,” Stiles mumbles.

Derek withdraws his thumb. “Not until I’m inside you.” He uses both hands now, frames Stiles’s face so he can make sure they are looking at each other, meeting each other’s eyes. “I’m not going to fuck you this weekend. During this retreat.” When Stiles whines, Derek laughs softly. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to leave you or me hanging while we’re here. But when I fuck you it’s going to be in my place, when I can take my time.”

He reaches down, slides his hand inside of Stiles’s trunks and slowly strokes him. Stiles gasps softly, hips rocking. “I’m going to put the corset on you,” Derek tells him, keeping their gazes locked. “I’m going to pull the laces tight, then just a shade tighter. Just enough to make it so you can’t quite get a full breath. Then I’ll pull your stockings on so carefully, one at a time, clipping them to the garters. You’re going to be so hard and wet for me.”

“Dude,” Stiles moans.

“I’m going to turn you around, bend you over the bed. Spread your ass and eat you out until you’re begging for my cock.”

“Won’t take long.”

Derek huffs, tugs a little harder, using Stiles’s own slick to make his fist slippery. “You’re going to be begging me, and I’m going to fuck you so hard. Fuck you until you can’t see straight, until my knot swells up inside of you. And when you come and lock down around me, I’m going to fill you up.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Stiles jerks, cock twitching as he comes all over Derek’s hand. He leans forward, bracing himself against Derek’s shoulder, shuddering while Derek strokes him through the orgasm.

Derek pulls his hand out of Stiles’s trunks, tastes the thick musky fluid. “You like that?”

“Yeah.” Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s throat, sucks until Derek groans. “I’m going to suck you now. Off.” He shoves his hands in Derek’s trunks, and Derek obligingly lifts his ass to let Stiles pull the trunks down.

His cock springs out, already thick and hard, the spongy gland on the underside oversensitive.

“You are so fucking huge. I’ve wanted this for so long.” Stiles fits his mouth over the tip, sucks him down without pre-amble.

“Fuck,” Derek hisses, cradling Stiles’s head. “Your fucking mouth.” He feels the way Stiles smiles around him, manages to get more in his mouth.

Derek stays perfectly still, lets Stiles do the work. He doesn’t want to choke him, and it’s been so fucking long that he doesn’t think he’ll last long. Stiles wraps his hand around the base, thumb stroking along the sensitive gland. Derek can already feel himself starting to swell, and Stiles locks his fingers more tightly, barely pulling against him while he teases the tip with his tongue.

It’s like being locked inside, and Derek groans. “Stiles, fuck. I’m going to—”

Stiles strokes harder, sucks more. As Derek starts to come, his dick keeps swelling. Stiles swallows as Derek comes, then pulls back. Derek comes again at the way Stiles looks, mouth red and raw, come leaking out. The spray hit across Stiles’s face, and Stiles leans up, lets Derek come all over his chest.

Stiles keeps stroking him, and Derek comes again at the scent of them both mingling.

It seems like it’s never going to stop, but it finally slows to a trickle, a feeble gasp of an orgasm as Stiles lets him go. Derek’s cock is still thick at the base, sending small shocks through him as he hitches back onto his bed. He falls backwards, and Stiles crawls up to sprawl on top of him.

His ass is tantalizingly close, but Derek’s knot is too big to fit in now—fuck first, swell and lock once he’s inside. Otherwise he might hurt Stiles.

Instead he hooks his fingers around Stiles’s ass, slides two fingers easily inside his slick ass. Stiles whines, sliding against Derek, spreading Derek’s own fluids between their chests. They’re both sticky and messy, but it smells perfect to Derek.

“Can you come again?” Derek asks, sliding his fingers more deeply inside. He pulls Stiles up, lets him frot against Derek’s chest. He manages to get his fingers in deeper, crooks them, finds Stiles’s prostate.

“Jesus fuck!” Stiles yells, and Derek grips his hair, yanks him down to plunder his mouth. Stiles rocks down hard as Derek fucks him with his fingers, swallowing every cry. It doesn’t take long, a few more strokes and Stiles comes again with a crackle of lights in the room. Lightning flares across Derek’s skin and he comes untouched.

The lights go out.

“God, that was good.” Stiles sounds slow and sated, sliding off Derek to lie down next to him.

Derek curls towards him, rearranges Stiles as the little spoon so Derek can press against his ass. “You’re perfect,” Derek murmurs against Stiles’s shoulder. “So fucking perfect for me.”

“Back atcha, dude,” Stiles murmurs.

They lie there, floating in the dim light. Sunlight still filters in around the curtains, and Derek knows that it’s only mid-afternoon. They have to go back down to the pool at some point, and every single person is going to smell their mingled scent. Every single one of them will know exactly what they’ve been doing.

His phone chimes twice in rapid succession, then one more time after a brief pause.

“Make it stop,” Stiles mutters. “I’m gonna sleep now.”

Derek wipes his hand on the sheets and reaches for his phone, careful not to disturb Stiles. He has a series of texts from Cora.

 _I do not want to know what you did that made the power go out_. _I really do not want to know. Stiles killed the whole building._

_I’m making reservations for dinner. I’ll send where. You’d better be decent by then._

_I’m happy for you._

The last one warms his heart.

“We’re going out of the hotel to eat because of you,” Derek murmurs.

“Stiles the hotel killer, that’s me,” Stiles laughs, slow and almost drunk sounding. “Never did that before. Never made an alpha before. Your dick is mine, Derek Hale.”

Literally. “Yeah,” Derek whispers. “Try not to kill my whole building when I fuck you.”

He has no idea how they’re going to wait until Monday.

It’ll be worth it if they do.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

**MythicalMischief:** Wake up.

 **NYWolf109:** You do realize that when I’m asleep, I’m not checking my phone or computer.

 **MythicalMischief:** And yet you responded.

 **NYWolf109:** Where are you?

 **MythicalMischief:** In the kitchen. Making pancakes.

 **NYWolf109:** In my kitchen. Are you making a mess?

 **MythicalMischief:** No. Pancakes. Would you like to come help me make a mess? Or help me come and make a mess?

 **NYWolf109:** Where did you pack the corset.

 **MythicalMischief:** Was that supposed to be a question?

 **NYWolf109:** If you don’t answer it, you don’t get fucked.

 **MythicalMischief:** Look in your closet. I hung it up last night. Before you ate me out until I came so hard I passed out in your bed. And seriously. I am so ready to be stuffed full of your knot. Because dude.

 **MythicalMischief:** DUDE.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude?

 **NYWolf109:** I’ve got the corset. Where’s the rest? Don’t burn the pancakes. Or the bacon. I do smell bacon. Don’t set off my fire alarm.

 **MythicalMischief:** I won’t burn the bacon, but dude. I’m fucking leaking so much it’s dripping down the back of my leg. I am going to finish this batch and turn off all the burners and you’d better get you—

 **MythicalMischief:** Whoa. I heard that growl from here.

 **NYWolf109:** Strip.

 **MythicalMischief:** What?

 **NYWolf109:** Turn off the burners. Move away from the stove. And strip. I want you naked by the time I get there.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude.

* * *

_**[Now]** _

There’s a faint haze hanging in the kitchen, the scent of bacon heavy enough to almost override the natural scent of Stiles’s arousal. The burners are off, a plate of bacon and another with a stack of pancakes sitting on the counter.

Stiles stands in the kitchen with his back to the door. He’s completely naked, bent slightly forward, hands on the kitchen table.

Derek growls softly; Stiles clenches his ass, a thin drip visible from his slick hole. “Bend over,” Derek whispers, and Stiles does, going flat against the top of the table, fingers curled against the wooden surface.

Derek sets the corset and lacy underthings on a chair, then crouches behind Stiles. He nudges at Stiles’s thighs, parting them so his ass is full exposed. Derek bites the meat of one cheek, and Stiles whines.

“Fuck,” Stiles whimpers.

“Not yet.” Derek has a plan, but it’s all falling apart when he’s faced with Stiles like this. It took everything he had not to fuck Stiles during the retreat. There was plenty of licking, sucking, and fingering, along with falling asleep curled together after, but Derek hasn’t taken his time to fuck him and knot him yet.

Until now.

Soon.

Derek uses his thumbs to hold Stiles’s cheeks apart, leans in to lick across his slick hole. “Don’t come,” Derek whispers, and Stiles whines louder at the instruction. Derek holds him in place so he can’t move, can’t rub off against the table while Derek laps at him. He’s so slick and open, and Derek’s tongue slips past the rim easily. Stiles whines when he withdraws, so Derek slips two fingers in to hold him open while Derek licks around his hole.

Scratches as Stiles scrapes his fingers across the surface of the table. “Fuck. Derek. Please.”

Derek curls his fingers, presses against Stiles’s prostate, and Stiles cries out.

“You fucking asshole,” Stiles groans. “I need to come. Please.”

Derek pulls his fingers out, wipes them against his thigh as he stands. “Come here.” He offers Stiles a hand, draws him upright. There’s a thin line from Stiles’s dick, dripping freely. Derek wraps his hand around his cock, strokes him once while Stiles whimpers. Then Derek raises his hand, presses his fingers to Stiles’s lips.

It feels so good when Stiles sucks them in, cleaning them thoroughly.

“I am going to get you dressed out here,” Derek says. “Then we’re going into my room, because I want a bed for when I knot you.” He’s thought about just bending Stiles back over the kitchen table, sliding into him. But Derek knows that he can’t control the knot; it’s already forming, the soft, spongy gland sensitive and desperate for touch. If he fucks Stiles, they’ll be tied together for at least twenty minutes, possibly longer, while Derek keeps Stiles full of—

Jesus fucking Christ, he needs to stop thinking about this before he comes without any help other than his own imagination.

Derek takes a step back, reaches blindly for the pile on the chair. His fingers hook the thong, and he holds it up between them, waits for Stiles to gently take it.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Stiles wear lace while they’re up close and personal. Instead of taking pictures during the retreat, Stiles wore the red lace panties with the heart over his dick, and jerked off while Derek watched, then Derek straddled him and spattered them both when he came.

This is still different.

There’s a gravity to this, as Stiles carefully bends to pull the thong up. It does nothing to contain his cock, thick and hard, the tip peeking out above the lace. When Derek motions, Stiles twirls, and he can see the thong disappearing between in the crack of Stiles’s ass. Derek stops him, parts his cheeks; the thong strap is already soaked and deeper red, thick with the musk of Stiles’s scent.

Fuck.

“Looks even better than I expected,” Derek murmurs, tugging the thong tight for just a moment.

“Let’s try on the corset.” Stiles’s breath shudders in his chest, heart hammering so loud it shakes in Derek’s ears. Stiles holds his arms out, waiting, and Derek wraps the corset around him.

“Lower your arms, hold it for me while I lace you up,” Derek directs. It’s the first time, the laces hanging, waiting to be threaded around the little hooks. Derek likes that they aren’t eyelets, that he can tighten it, but at the same time, when he loosens it, it’ll fall quickly.

It’s safer that way, for what he has planned.

He begins at the top, with the two eyelet holes there, and tugs sharply. “How tight?” he asks, and Stiles inhales sharply.

“Tight,” he replies.

“How tight?” Derek repeats. He needs a clear answer, one that isn’t fogged by need and hunger.

Silence for a long moment, punctuated by the beat of Stiles’s heart, and the way he clenches his hands against the satin of corset. His voice is hoarse when he finally replies. “So tight that I can barely breathe,” he whispers.

“Do you trust me?” Derek murmurs, pressing a kiss to his throat.

“More than anything,” Stiles confirms. “Breath play by corset is a go.”

Derek smiles against his skin. “I’ve been thinking about this for months,” he says softly, working the laces back and forth, criss-crossing around each set of hooks. He tugs tightly for every pair, wanting to be sure that the corset is perfectly snug. He pats Stiles’s ass as he works lower. “Exhale,” he orders, and Stiles groans as he does so.

Derek finishes lacing, waits to see how Stiles is before he moves. As soon as Stiles nods, Derek moves around him, coming to the front so he can cradle Stiles’s face and kiss him breathless. Every tiny gasp raises Stiles’s shoulders, straining.

“Good?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods again.

“So good. I’m probably going to get pretty light-headed,” Stiles admits.

“I’m going to take care of you. I promise.” Derek has to step away to get the stockings. He crouches down as soon as he has them in hand, fits the first over Stiles’s toe and rolls it up his leg. Derek kisses as he goes, right up the inner thigh, until his cheek is pressed against Stiles’s cock so he can nuzzle in close. He licks him through the lace and fastens the garter clip the top of the stocking.

He repeats it for the second, while Stiles clings to his hair, tries to drag Derek close to his dick.

“Suck me,” Stiles pleads, and Derek obliges, taking just the tip into his mouth. Stiles thrusts, and Derek withdraws.

“Go to the bedroom and bend over, ass up.” Derek pats his ass, watches him walk away. He needs just ten seconds on his own, then he follows. He doesn’t want to leave Stiles alone, not with the corset laced so tightly.

He steps into the room just in time to see Stiles bend over the bed, his legs spread, ass in the air. His ass glistens with slick, the thong soaked. There are streaks on the stockings, where slick has dripped down Stiles’s legs, stained his inner thighs.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful like this.” Derek crowds in close behind him, slips two fingers in easily. “I want to make you come, just like this, all bound up by the corset, fucking into the bed.”

“Want you in my ass,” Stiles whimpers, hiccuping as he gasps for breath. “Fuck me. Please.”

Yeah. Fuck. Derek wants that too, more than almost anything.

Almost.

He needs Stiles safe, first.

“I’m going to take the corset off when you come,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles nods. “Yes. Fine. If I black out, keep going. Knot the fuck out of me. I trust you not to let me asphyxiate.”

Derek twists his fingers, adds a third. “You’re still saying shit like asphyxiate. I am not doing this well enough.”

Stiles laughs, ending in a cough. “Fuck. Yeah. You are. Fuck the words right out of me, dude.”

With a line like that, how can Derek resist?

He pulls his fingers out, lines up and presses the head of his cock against the rim of Stiles’s hole. It slips in without resistance, and Stiles cries out, pushes back. Derek grips his hips, fingers pressed in against his pelvis, tucked under the lace and bone of the corset. With his thumbs, he spreads Stiles’s ass, so he can watch as his cock disappears inside of him. Stiles takes him as if they are made for each other, clamping down tightly as soon as Derek is inside.

“Fuck,” Stiles whispers.

“Yeah. Gonna fuck you so hard.” Derek withdraws just a little, just until he feels the press of Stiles’s rim against his thickening knot. “Jesus fucking Christ, you feel so good, Stiles. So fucking perfect for me. I’m going to fill you up.”

He rocks back and forth, movement already restricted. Stiles shudders under him, gasps for breath.

“Fuck, Derek.” Breathy and soft, Stiles shakes. He twists his hands in the sheets, pushing back.

“You should see yourself,” Derek murmurs. He presses a finger next to his cock, and Stiles cries out at the extra width. “My knot’s starting to fill you up. Feel that?” He pulls back, twitches when his knot catches on the rim, and he pushes back in roughly. Stiles moans, so Derek does it all over again.

He’s going to come soon. He’s going to come and be locked inside of Stiles, pumping him full. And— _fuck_. “Gonna breed you,” Derek whispers. Stiles gasps, a cut off sound. Derek slides one hand to the center of his back, close to the tie on the corset. The other he wraps around Stiles, getting a hand on his thick cock. “Do you like that? I’m going to fill you up, my perfect, perfect mate. Fill you up with my come, get you full of my babies. Feel your belly grow.” His knot’s fully locked now, each tiny thrust sending sparks of pleasure.

“Please,” Stiles whispers, gasping. “Oh fuck, Derek, so close.”

“I want to feel you come,” Derek tells him, leaning over to kiss the arched line of his spine. “Make me come, Stiles. Make me fill you up. Breed you. Fuck yourself back on my knot, and oh _fuck_ yes.”

Stiles goes rigid under him with a bitten off cry, cock pulsing in Derek’s hand.

Derek slips the tie loose, and the corset expands with Stiles’s next breath. Stiles collapses forward, limp against the bed, and Derek comes.

“Don’t stop.” Stiles is hoarse, floating. Loose and lax except for his ass.

“You okay?” Derek spreads his palms over Stiles’s ass, grips hard.

“Fuck yeah.”

That’s all Derek needs. He can barely move, but he needs to keep going, pressing in and out as Stiles squeezes his knot. He slides his hands around to Stiles’s belly, bites the back of his shoulder and whispers, “Mine,” as he comes a second time.

Stiles clenches around him, the bed sticky beneath them both. Derek lifts Stiles, surges forward so they’re fully on the bed. He lifts Stiles hips, wedging a pillow under them as he keeps fucking him.

“Breed me,” Stiles murmurs, reaching back to spread his ass for Derek. “Fuck, Derek. I feel your come dripping out. So fucking much of it. Fuck it into me.”

Derek closes his eyes, his third orgasm wrung out of him, squeezed tight and hot and wet. “You are so fucking good for me.” He collapses against Stiles when he’s done, lightheaded and not caring about the way boning from the corset pokes against his ribs.

“Getoff.” Stiles shoves weakly, breathing still rough and labored.

Derek lifts the pillow out from under them, rolls them both to the side. He keeps one leg thrown across Stiles’s for comfort as he tucks him close. They’re going to be stuck this way for a while, and he wants them to be comfortable.

“Better?” Derek asks. He rests one hand against Stiles’s stomach, his dick pulsing in a fresh orgasm that leaves Derek gasping.

“Sounds like you’re still good back there.” Stiles laughs softly. “Fuck. Yeah. This is awesome. Fantastic. Can’t believe how good it was. Ten out of ten, would definitely repeat. If we didn’t crush the corset.”

Derek manages to unhook it completely, tugs the string out of one of the eyelets. It takes some maneuvering to get it off completely, then he’s able to drop it to one side. “I think it’ll survive. If it doesn’t, I’ll buy you another.” He lightly touches Stiles’s ribs, pulling back when Stiles winces. “I think that’s going to be a special occasions only thing, though. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I am all in the next time we do it, but yeah, recovery time is good,” Stiles agrees. “So’s nap time.”

“Didn’t we just wake up, and didn’t you make us breakfast?” Derek deadpans, laughing when Stiles swats at his hip.

“Unless we’re going to the kitchen like twins joined at the cock-in-ass, then we can forget about breakfast for now,” Stiles points out.

Derek nips his shoulder, shifts his hips until Stiles moans. “Yeah, no, I’m fine right here. But I’ve got a better idea than napping.”

“Dude, I don’t think I’ve got anything left in me,” Stiles protests as Derek wraps his hand around his cock, tugging lightly. It goes from flagging to half-hard in a few strokes. “Dude,” Stiles mutters, shifting his hips slightly, fucking himself between Derek’s fist and knot.

Derek grips tightly at the base, strokes firmly down over the head, rolling over it before stroking back again. Stiles is hard, balls already drawn up.

“Dude,” Stiles mutters, clenching down hard enough that Derek sees stars. Stiles twitches his hips again, harder and faster. “Dude. _Fuck_ , dude!”

They come together, Derek’s teeth clenched on Stiles’s shoulder, while Stiles tightens around Derek’s dick.

And yeah, after that, maybe it’s time for a little nap. Breakfast can definitely wait.

* * *

_**[2 weeks later]** _

**NYWolf109:** Where are you? Scott said you’d be late.

 **MythicalMischief:** I brought Melissa breakfast.

 **NYWolf109:** Trying to curry favor before telling her and your dad that you’re finally moving out? Caryn’s going to miss you.

 **MythicalMischief:** My little sister is spoiled and loves me more than you do. But no. I actually kind of needed to talk to Melissa.

 **NYWolf109:** Professionally? Are you okay? You said that your increased libido and slick production was a reaction to being my mate.

 **MythicalMischief:** It is. It’s just

 **NYWolf109:** What?

 **MythicalMischief:** Nothing that won’t resolve itself in a few months.

 **MythicalMischief:** Like nine.

 **NYWolf109:** What.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude?

 **NYWolf109:** Still here.

 **MythicalMischief:** Is this okay. I mean you said—but that might have been just talk.

 **NYWolf109:** It was talk. I mean. But yeah. I want. That. With you.

 **MythicalMischief:** I am having your alpha baby. Or babies. It’s too soon to tell. See? It sort of looks like a blob inside another blob.

 **NYWolf109:** That’s our baby.

 **MythicalMischief:** Yep. Melissa gave me a few images. She’s going to check on me again in about a month.

 **NYWolf109:** You know how you laugh at Jackson because he bends down and talks to Lydia’s belly all the time?

 **MythicalMischief:** Yeah…

 **NYWolf109:** I am going to worship the fuck out of you while pregnant.

 **MythicalMischief:** Jackson is going to give me so much shit for this.

 **NYWolf109:** Probably.

 **MythicalMischief:** I don’t care. Because dude, I’m gonna have a baby. Our baby. A little Hale-Stilinski miracle baby. Because my fucking spark made you an alpha, and your mateliness made me so incredibly fertile that you probably knocked me up on first fuck.

 **NYWolf109:** Do you want this? We’re still new. This thing—us. Having a baby makes this permanent.

 **MythicalMischief:** We’ve been almost dating online for more than six months now. I am so fucking in love with you that I can’t breathe sometimes.

 **NYWolf109:** That usually involves a corset.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude. I am still sitting in my step-mother’s office. Please do not make me get all wet.

 **NYWolf109:** And rimming.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude. You suck so much.

 **NYWolf109:** I’d show you how much I suck but there are no private spaces at our office.

 **MythicalMischief:** You are so wrong about that. I know plenty of private places in the Mythimoderna office space. I probably asked Scott to design some of them. Are you asking for a tour?

 **NYWolf109:** Bring me breakfast. We’ll eat in my office. Then you can take me on a tour. A long tour.

 **MythicalMischief:** It’s going to probably piss Lydia off. And Cora might say it’s against HR rules.

 **NYWolf109:** Pretty sure half the office is fucking someone else in the office. We are the epitome of nepotism in the workplace. I am marrying into a pack.

 **MythicalMischief:** Marrying into? What? Dude?

 **NYWolf109:** Eventually. Get your ass into work. I want my breakfast.

 **MythicalMischief:** I want you to suck me.

 **NYWolf109:** That too. But you have to be here for it to happen.

 **MythicalMischief:** Dude. On my way.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on Tumblr at [tryslora](http://tryslora.tumblr.com). If you like my fic, you might also enjoy my original serial, posted twice weekly at [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com).


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